


Salt Wife

by beautysupreme



Series: Salt Wife [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), GoT - Fandom
Genre: Flogging, Gang Rape, Jelly Fish, M/M, Orgy, Pomegranates, Public Humiliation, Role Reversal, Sadism, Sadomasochism, Sexual Assault, Sounding, Tentacle Porn, Threesome, Torture, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautysupreme/pseuds/beautysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The sea provides far more harsh instruments of torture than flaying knives."</p><p>AU. With Euron's aid, Theon captures Ramsay Bolton as they sail toward the Iron Islands for trial. On their voyage, Ramsay is subjected to torture and public humiliation as retribution for his former actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: This work contains extremely graphic depictions of violence and rape.

The smell of sea salt and his own piss burnt his nostrils while the metal cuffs around his wrists rubbed his skin raw. Three days. Three days without food, water, or sunlight. Three days of hearing footsteps on the creaking boards above him and hearing the indistinct chatter of men, but not seeing any of them; he may as well be aboard a phantom ship. Three days of the roaring sea assaulting his ear drums. The fucking sea was everywhere – the air, his ears, dripping from the ceiling, and haunting his dreams.

Each time he fell asleep it was the same dream. He was sinking beneath the waves, eerie mountains in the distance and darkness ebbing around his naked form. Something brushed against his back and crossed over his chest. It was as round as a chamber maid’s wrist, quickly growing as thick as his forearm, then as his thighs, the thickest visible part was almost as large as an entire man, the rest fading into the darkness. Tiny puckered mouths loitered the length of it, suckling at the skin it touched.

It snaked around his throat and returned, caressing the cuff of his ear before slithering over his cheek. He clamped his mouth shut but the appendage was too strong. It prodded at his lips, forcing his mouth open, thrusting past his teeth and toward the back of his throat. The thing tasted awful; wet, slimy, and like rotten fish. He tried to bite down on it, but it didn’t react. It was so thick and strong. Pain was shooting through his jaw and the tentacle pressed further toward the back of his throat, the width of it increasing drastically with each inch, gagging him. 

Another touched his foot and began sliding up his leg, tracing its way around his thigh and crossing over his leg twice before snaking up and caressing his ass. It began pressing against the small of his back for a moment and then wrapping around his other legs, forcing him to spread them if he didn’t want his hips snapped. The tip circled around his flaccid cock and began tugging gently. He quickly grew hard, tingling sensations shooting over his length and into the pit of his belly as the thing’s tiny mouths suckled at him.

For a moment he let go, letting the creature pleasure him. But then another limb of the unseen beast appeared from the murky darkness and he could feel a sinking feeling in his chest. It swam through the water, toward his spread legs. _No, no, no._ Though hopeless, he struggled against it, violently twisting his body and kicking. The monster’s grip was too tight and he barely budged. The one in his mouth grew excited in anticipation of the other’s arrival. It grew and throbbed, thrusting down his throat. In doing so, it twisted tighter around his throat. His jaw ached and his eyes burned, from both the pain and the lack of oxygen.  His vision blurred and tears began forming in the corners of his eyes. The darkness ebbed, drawing closer as the pressure threatened to collapse his trachea. He was getting harder, achingly so. Bile was rising in his chest, making its way up as the limb reached further down, brushing his tonsils. He gagged against the slimy thing, hard, pain spreading through his stomach muscle. The thing etched even further, causing him to choke once more, bringing vomit up with it but there was nowhere for it to go as the tentacle did not relent. Some of it spilled around the tentacle, but he was forced to swallow it all back down, some stomach acid coating the tentacle and causing it to burn more as it began thrusting back and forth. Rage shook his entire body as he lost control. Humiliation had been a foreign feeling to him before this.

The grip on his cock tightened as the tip teased his entrance. The thing had some kind of sebaceous gland under the epidermis; oil filtered through its already slimy exterior and coated it in a slick fluid. He clenched himself shut as tightly as he could, but it only made matters worse. The assaulting tentacle pressed on relentlessly and broke through. His head would have snapped back if the other tentacle wasn’t choking him still. Pain, hot and white, shot through his lower body and up his spine. A fire underwater.

He gasped and water filled his lungs, the tentacle in his mouth pushing further down his throat, the thickness threatening to unhinge his jaw. As the one inside him delved further, so did the one in his throat, while the one around his cock squeezed and pumped harder, twisting and sliding around his length. The thing filled him and writhed within him, blood seeping out as his eyes turned red. He awoke in fear and something akin to arousal each time, this time no different.

 

* * *

 

 

Desire, fear, shame – all feelings associated with the night and the darker side of man. But these feelings were not dissolved by the rays of the sun or washed away in the tide. Theon felt his heart thrashing against his ribcage just like the waves against the ship. The squall had subsided but rogue waves still struck on, not giving up the losing battle just yet. Just over an hour ago the sea had been roaring, threatening to swallow the ship whole or dash it to bits among the reef; the moon the only witness to the crew’s demise. The ship his sister had gifted him with was old but in good condition. Its planks knew the victory of seven battles, tasting the blood of friend and foe alike and sang their experience with each creak and bowed board. He held onto the wooden rail, taking in the fearsome sight of the raging night sea; a mirror reflection of what he felt inside. He was playing at this once again but this time he had his uncle to steady him and keep him focused. He kept telling himself he wouldn’t succumb to the dread in his stomach or the whisper in his ear. _Bad Reek. Bad. Release Master and beg his forgiveness._ He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push out the weak and feeble voice he was so ashamed of. He felt his uncle’s hand on his shoulder. Euron was less like what Theon had imagined an uncle to be. He had imagined something if not greater than the kinship he had witnessed between Jon and Benjen Stark. No, Euron was something more akin to a friend that Theon would have visited the brothel in Wintertown with. A friend that he feared displeasing. Theon searched for something to say, gazing into the far reaches of the horizon, to the point where the dark sea and night sky met and stretched out into infinity together, “I should have made him kill me. Instead, I embarrassed myself and my family.”

Euron’s grip tightened on the other man’s shoulder and he retrieved a flask from his coat pocket with his free hand, pressing it against his nephew’s chest, “Pain or the fear of death can cause men to do a great number of things they’d be ashamed of otherwise. The will to live is too strong.”

Theon looked over at his uncle, the man’s face was solemn but he could see a flicker of glee at the recollection of some related memory dancing through his mind, “I know. I have broken a great deal of men. Come nephew, it has been three days. Let us break the Bastard Beast of Bolton together.”

Theon swallowed back a knot of anxiety, not pushing it away but only further down in his chest as his feet led him to the storage compartment that housed Ramsay Bolton. His prisoner. While the statement would have made other men hard with revenge, it still felt strange to him. He would have been happy to forget it; to return to the Iron Islands and spend his days being shunned by his father, finding some apothecary, sipping on milk of the poppy, and drifting off to the past. Living during the in between. Before King Robert had come to Winterfell. When he and Robb would go on hunts together, staying out from early morning to late dusk and returning with nothing to show for it except perhaps a few rabbits and pheasant. The time in between the wars of their fathers and then their own.

When they entered the storage room that served as Ramsay’s cell, the anxiety that he had pushed down was flooding Theon’s entire body. His fingers trembled and his chest heaved under his armor. Although starved and dehydrated, eyes tired from poor sleep, Ramsay spoke calm but through clenched teeth, “Reek. Unchain me.”

They stared at each other. Theon locked his jaw and remained steadfast, despite the fact that he was actually looking past Ramsay, afraid of what he may do if he actually looked at the other man. His chest tightened and his stomach swirled in a thousand directions. He knew Ramsay saw through him, he just hoped his uncle couldn’t. Ramsay spoke again, voice teeming with rage, “Unchain me and I will forgive you. Return me to Winterfell and I will forget this.”

Theon clenched his fists. He had told himself again and again that Ramsay had no power over him but his lip was quivering and his eyes were becoming blurred with tears. _Throw yourself on him and beg his forgiveness._ He felt the tremor in his hands begin to spread through his body, worsened by his uncle’s gaze upon him. Ramsay was one thing, Euron was another. The look of disgust cut through him and he was glad when that gaze was quickly returned to Ramsay. Ramsay, whose stare did not falter from him and whose voice was demanding his attention, “Reek”.

A hard blow sent a splatter of blood across the floor, “You will address him as Theon, Prince of the Iron Islands. Any further insolence from you and I will solder your pretty mouth shut, Bastard. You are accused of maiming and torturing our prince. How do you plead?”

Euron anchored him back to stability and he watched fury dance in Ramsay’s eyes as a measured laugh bellowed from his gut, “I do not plead, but you will when my father sends his men and the entire North for you.”

“Your father will send no men. Why, I wouldn’t wager that he will even put a bounty out on us. At least not immediately. Haven’t you heard? You have a healthy baby brother! Roose Bolton is celebrating the birth of his legitimate son, not searching for his Bastard.”

Euron’s eyes flicked between Ramsay and Theon. The boy was practically snarling at him now. He had his attention. Past the full armor with Kraken breast plate on display and his planted stance, Theon was still fearful. Euron knew it and he knew Ramsay was aware it. The presence of the crew behind him would keep his nephew from succumbing to the conditioning he had been subjected to, “Now, we’re going to take you up top so you can pledge fealty to your new prince and beg his forgiveness.”

Ramsay sneered in silence and Euron himself nearly scoffed at the sentence. Theon was weak and despite Euron’s guidance, still a broken thing. Euron was far from the best, or even mediocre, choice for nurturing broken things. He almost felt sorry for the boy. Almost. But he swore that if he saw the little shit tremble or heard his voice break one more time, he’d fuck him raw and then rape the Bolton boy’s mouth so he could taste the shit stain he had made of the young Kraken.

Euron stepped forward, effortlessly hoisting Ramsay from the hook his bound hands hung from. He watched the bastard’s knees buckle and his legs shake. He smiled. It wouldn’t be the first time Ramsay Bolton’s body would betray his harsh and indifferent demeanor tonight. He shoved the chained boy through the short, narrow corridor that lead out of the storage compartment and up to the deck.

As the door opened, the King of Salt and Rock drew in a deep breath of the night air, the smell of sea and storm washing out the stale smell of piss that had filled the cargo hold. The men fell quiet at his presence, wary of the rumors they had heard of the older Kraken. He smiled as he thought of The Silence and his own maimed crew. He glanced over the men, imagining how difficult it would be to remove each of their tongues – which ones would be thick and sinewy, and which would be easier to rip out. Euron nudged his prisoner forward, his chest filling with pride and excitement at the thought of what was to come.

He looked over at his nephew and the boy’s silence suddenly made his blood boil. Instead of kicking Theon like the injured puppy he resembled, he grabbed a fistful of Ramsay’s hair, snatching his head back before spitting in his face. Bolton’s bastard was borderline short in stature and lean, skin pale and stark under the moonlight. He wasn’t what Euron had expected nor could he see the boy striking fear into anyone, yet he had heard the crewmen whispering of flaying and the hunting of two legged prey – and there was his shell of a nephew as testament, “Men! Before you stands Ramsay Snow – now Ramsay Bolton — son of Roose Bolton! Legitimized by bastard king born of incest! What is this world coming to, eh? If he plays nice, tonight is going to be rather dull. But if he doesn’t – and I have a feeling he won’t – you all will be in for a treat!”

The silence was broken and a low murmur could be heard among the crowd. Euron stepped in front of the younger man, “I give you the same choice. Drop to your knees and pledge fealty to Theon Greyjoy, rightful prince of the Iron Islands and beg his mercy. Or be punished for your crimes here, in front of the crew and await your sentence in the dungeons when we arrive at Pyke.”

Ramsay glared at Euron, “Release me now and I won’t flay you living before I kill you.”

Euron gleamed at the response, “I had hoped for this.”

Theon watched his uncle retrieve a small metal clamp like device from his coat pocket before he shrugged the garment off. It was an iron frame, simple in design and shaped similarly to the letter “U”. He wondered how many men found themselves praying to the old Gods and new when they saw the thing.  He had escaped from one sadist to another; this one part of a long lost family he had over romanticized throughout his youth. He watched as Euron forced Ramsay’s face toward the men, snarling in his ear, fingertips and thumb pressing harshly into the hollow of his cheeks, “Three men refused to stay aboard when they found out we had brought you on the ship – they said you were a monster. I slit their throats and fed them to the sharks. Look at you, little flayer of men!”

The Lord Reaper loosened his grasp and let his fingers glide softly over the boy’s face until they were lying on Ramsay’s jawline and his thumb was against his full lips. Rage filled his eyes again at the thought of such a man reducing a member of his bloodline to a shaking pup. He squeezed tightly, on the brink of losing control and crushing bone, “You have the lips of a Lysene pleasure boy! Let’s see if your mouth is as hot as theirs.”

Euron pressed his thumb relentlessly against Ramsay’s lips but the bastard wouldn’t give in. A wicked smile contorted his face as he handed the metal contraption to a nearby crewmember and pried Ramsay’s mouth open. Theon watched in new kind of terror, teeming with wonder, as Ramsay was forced to his knees and fruitlessly grasping at Euron’s forearms with restrained hands, fingers digging into taught muscle to no avail. As he watched Ramsay struggle, Theon recalled a lesson in speech from Maester Luwin when he was a young boy regarding words that sounded the same but held different meanings, specifically the difference in pray and prey. Euron clicked his tongue three times against the roof of his mouth, like a mother cooing a squalling babe. He nodded for the crewman to move toward Ramsay, “Place it toward the center of his mouth.”

The man quickly shoved the apparatus between Ramsay’s teeth and backed away, as if touching the bastard would cause his skin to peel away on its own. Euron released his hold on the man’s jaw, letting the metal piece do its job of leaving the man’s mouth gaping open. Theon’s eyes widened at how easily his uncle overpowered Ramsay, “If you bite down on this boy, you’ll only break your own jaw – and I swear I’ll still use it to fuck that pretty little mouth.”

Euron backed away from Ramsay just enough to loosen his belt and give it to a nearby crewman. He removed himself from his pants, letting them gather around his mid thighs. He was well endowed, longer than many men with a length of nearly eight inches and a thick girth that probably made fishermen’s wives and whores alike swoon. Euron nodded to the leather strap in the man’s hand, “Whip him with this. Five counts between lashings.”

Theon stepped forward, a fragment of his old self surfacing as a smirk parted his lips. He nearly moaned at the display before him, feeling a rush of arousal and shame mix within him. He couldn’t place the reason for the shame. Perhaps it was caused by mercy, but the dark desires of men put it in its place, locked well behind his ribcage and in the back of his heart. Anger and vengeance began pumping through him and he grabbed a handful of Ramsay’s hair before thrusting his face into Euron’s crotch. The Reaper smirked, brushing his hand over Theon’s as he took his own fistful of dark hair, rubbing the Bastard’s cheek against his growing erection. The crew began shouting and cat calling. Theon grabbed Ramsay’s hips and ground against his clothed ass. The young kraken watched as his uncle rammed his cock into the bastard’s open mouth. Euron threw his head back with a soft moan upon hearing the first snap of the leather strap against flesh, then another, and another, leaving angry red welts in its wake.

Ramsay noticed the smirk on Theon’s face and he felt his hatred of the Crow’s Eye grow deeper. He had torn his Reek from him. He had shaped Theon into the creature he wanted and the creature Theon Greyjoy deserved to be. He missed Reek. Missed his broken teeth and missing fingers. Missed his slut gash. Now some arrogant little prince of Pyke stood before him.

Theon still winced at the sound of the belt hitting flesh, despite its siren song. Invisible wounds on his back and chest ached; reminding him of when his position had been different. When he heard the Bastard of Bolton gag against the massive cock assaulting his throat, Theon moaned. His own desires were lit ablaze; it was how helpless and vulnerable Ramsay Bolton was – how tense his body was while displayed on all fours like the beast he was. It was the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, a mix of physical discomfort and perhaps emotional distress as a response to fear or humiliation – he doubted the latter, at least at this point. It was the helpless gagging, choking sounds he was making with a cock shoved down his throat. He took a deep breath of the sea air before roughly pushing down Ramsay’s pants, along with his small garments, over his ass and to his bent knees. The prince of Pyke watched a chill silently ripple down Ramsay’s spine before he grabbed greedily at what lay before him, soft yet firm pale flesh. Theon filled his hands with the smooth skin, groping and spreading the bastard apart. He pressed the tip of his thumb inside, feeling Ramsay tighten around it as he tried to jerk away. It caused the Bastard to groan, sending tiny vibrations around the head of Euron’s cock. The Lord Reaper watched his nephew, eyes glazed with lust as he mercilessly fucked Ramsay’s mouth, grabbing fistfuls of dark hair to gain all the purchase he could. Theon pulled away and then brought his hand back hard, smacking one of the angry welts caused by the belt. He watched the flesh quiver ever so slightly. The leather snapped against flesh again, this time against Ramsay’s bare back. Theon released himself from his trousers.

The fever brought on by the tonic that the Woods Witch had given him had lasted for nearly a fortnight. The pain from the stretching and tearing of the muscle and veins in his groin was worse than when Ramsay had removed his manhood. Thankfully he had grown accustomed to the pain but even still he had wondered if it was even worth it. He had lost the desires bestowed upon him at puberty – that was until this moment. It had taken several months for his cock to even begin to resemble a cock, but now, almost year after visiting the witch, it was restored to its full and former glory; not as large as his uncle but still the cock of a prince of Pyke and exceedingly large for his small frame. The prostitutes surrounding Winterfell would swear it had been a rumor altogether that he had lost it.

He slicked his member with the precum that was pooling around the tip and began sliding it up and down Ramsay’s ass. The arrogance that had been flayed from him was returning as he leaned over Ramsay, biting his ear, “I bet you had to cut off my cock because of how tempted you were by it. Didn’t want your father to possibly walk in on you riding it and know how badly you craved it.”

Theon dug his fingers into the flesh surrounding the man’s sharp hip bones and leaned back, watching himself slide over the Bastard’s tight opening. Another crack of the belt ushered forth a restrained cry and Theon felt something dark and carnal stir within him, the need to get the man to cry out louder possessing him. He wanted those screams.

Ramsay felt arousal travel down his stomach and take root at the base of his cock, surprised and mortified by it. He had dabbled in masochism with Myranda but only to the point of letting her choke him. Degradation had never been something he would entertain. He attempted to jerk away again but only caused more friction between them and took Euron deeper in his throat. He felt the salty air drying his lips and causing them to crack, the corners of his mouth and jaw aching. A cock was rubbing against the crack of his ass while another was gagging him. He tried to be as still as possible, more than familiar with how pleasurable a twisting and fighting body could be. Hatred and fury pumped through his body and for the first time in his life he was powerless to act on it and it angered him even more that he himself was getting a rise out of it. The older Kraken grabbed another handful of his hair and began fucking his mouth hard and fast, each thrust causing him to gag, “I wonder if your father would renounce your royal decree of legitimacy if he could see you now.” 

Euron felt a tremor begin to grow in his thigh and he looked up at the inky sky to reign in his orgasm. Ramsay was now gagging hard against his length and it made the flame in his loins burn hotter, causing him to quicken his pace. Ramsay felt Theon come to a pause before piercing, burning pain shot up his spine. He gasped on Euron’s assaulting cock as Theon’s pressed passed the tight ring of muscle and began plowing into him full hilt. His insides burned and without thinking he tried to grind his teeth, but a sharp sting encompassed his jaw like an arrow. Ramsay’s eyes glistened as fire ripped through his entire body; he felt himself tearing around Theon. Fingers were pressing into his sides, bruising pale skin as Theon leaned over him, panting in his ear like a dog in heat. He whispered like a lover in Ramsay’s ear, breath smelling of salt and ocean, “You feel better than any woman.”

 Theon’s vision went white as Ramsay tightened around him, bringing on a heavy orgasm. Ramsay felt Theon pulsing inside him, flooding him with hot cum. A hard smack was delivered to his ass and he could feel some of the fluid trickle out and run down his leg. Ramsay felt his stomach churning and the prick slamming against the back of his throat wasn’t helping.

The smell of blood filled the night air as skin gave way and cracked open from the lashings. The muscles of his stomach began tightening and acid tore through his esophagus. The sharp, sour stench of vomit mixed with the copper scent of blood. Euron felt hot liquid spill round him – not his own. The bastard had vomited on him. He pulled out, some of the foul fluid spilling out and dribbling down Ramsay’s chin, “Swallow it.”

Ramsay leaned forward to let the vomit leak out of his mouth. Euron jerked his head up, forcing his face upward toward the night sky. Ramsay’s eyes cut to the Kraken, void of anything but hot seething hatred. Before more could escape, Euron covered Ramsay’s mouth his hand and jerked his head upward, “I said swallow it!”

The older Kraken watched Ramsay’s throat bulge with each swallow, the action proving difficult with his jaw fixed open, some of it still spilling from the corners of his mouth and streaking down his chest until it dissipated into nothing. He leaned back on one leg and sent hard kick into the man’s side. Then another, and another, and another. The fourth sent Ramsay onto his back and out of Theon’s grasp. Euron straddled his shoulders and started stroking himself, staring directly into the Bastard of Bolton’s eyes. Euron quickened his pace while reveling in the younger man’s submission. Their eyes remained locked until Ramsay quickly squeezed his shut as hot white ribbons of cum streaked over his chest, neck, and face. Euron smiled as the man’s body involuntarily shook beneath him, consumed with rage and humiliation, “Are you ready to submit?”

He pulled the apparatus from the boy’s mouth and tossed it to side with his free hand. Ramsay’s lips were swollen and cracked, painted red with blood. He laid in silence, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth.

“I can’t hear you, Bastard. Are you savoring my cum?”

“Fuck you,” Ramsay spat, blood and saliva landing on the older Greyjoy’s boot.

“I think you’re confused, boy. That’s what is happening to you,” Euron smirked before relieving himself on Ramsay. The boy’s lips parted slightly as he felt the warm stream splash over his chest and flow down his stomach, glistening in the trail of hair leading to his nether regions and dissipating there. Ramsay’s mouth remained open and he stared blankly at nothing, vision going red as all sound ceased around him except for his own heartbeat. Euron’s smile grew. He was getting tired of the bravado bullshit and found great pleasure in the look of disbelief and shock on Ramsay Bolton’s face. He nodded to his nephew who disappeared into the crowd of men. Ramsay hurled himself at Euron, sending the man stumbling back. He attempted to free his hands of the shackles as Euron matched toward him, angry as the raging sea. He grabbed Ramsay’s throat and squeezed, “Alright, men. Who wants a go at the bastard’s mouth now?!”

Thirty something men cheered and began shoving at each other as the mass of bodies crowded closer.

“I have a load for him right here!”

“I’ll fuck him bloody!”

“I have something he can choke on!”

His chest heaved and something stopped the breath in his lungs. Was it fear? He wasn’t sure. Before any of the nameless men could advance on him, Theon stepped into his line of sight. His pants were back up. He dropped a bucket of water near Ramsay, water sloshing over the rim. It was just far enough away that he couldn’t see inside of it. A crewman handed Euron a narrow box, “We’re going play a game. I heard you like those. Now, which one is it then? The box…or the bucket?”

Ramsay remained silent. He was well versed in mind games and torture; he knew what the Crow’s Eye wanted.

“Both it is.” Euron opened the box, showing Ramsay the contents, which were less than terrifying. Several solid glass tubes were arranged inside the box, ascending by length and thickness. The first was extremely narrow, the width of a maiden’s delicate small finger, and close to four inches in length. The last was nearly three inches in diameter and twelve in length, “Twelve of you come forward – everyone take one. Shove it up his cock while you fuck his mouth.”

“No!” Ramsay yelped, frantically searching for Theon as his ego and pride quickly dissolved, “The bucket! I choose the bucket!”

“Oh, I don’t think you understand. The time to choose is over.” Euron pressed his heel against the boy’s vomit covered chest until he was sitting back. One member of the crew grabbed his arm while another man grabbed the other. Two more men broke from the crowd and restrained his leg, “I have several years of experience on you, boy. I don’t think you’ve ever experienced a man’s body giving out before his will. One will always submit, either the body or the mind. It looks like your first experience will be very, very personal.”

“Take the smallest first and then so on.” Euron instructed as the first participant stepped forward, taking what was once perceived as tiny and harmless. The man’s skin was tanned and worn like leather, appearing in his fifties. He dropped his trousers, as did the other men in line.  A sundry of cocks in varying states of erection awaited his mouth. The men were all staring at him, some stroking themselves as they watched his eyes widen.

Ramsay thrashed against the men restraining him as the crewmember took hold of Ramsay’s flaccid manhood and shoved the smooth vial like object into his urethra. One of the men holding his thigh down shoved a thick, callused finger inside his ass at the same time. He pursed his lips and stared into the dark nothingness that surrounded the ship, intent on not letting the Islanders see his pain. Tears stung his eyes as the glass tore through tissue and burnt hotter than any fire. Ramsay howled like a beast, rage filling his lungs. The fearsome guttural sound carried out over the waves. Another finger was shoved inside of him as a short, stubby cock was shoved in his mouth. He bit down hard, blood filling his mouth. The man crouched over him yelped like an injured dog and Euron shoved him out of the way. Ramsay spat the blood to the side, chest still heaving and lips ruby red. A tall bald man stepped forward from the line and shoved another sealed glass vial in his cock. This time, instead of attempting to fuck his mouth the man began masturbating over him. Two more men stepped forward, shoving increasingly long and thickening instruments in his cock, stroking themselves over him. The man fingering his ass was now making a “v” over and over inside him. Both of his holes were being painfully stretched open. Searing pain was filling his cock and he could feel blood spilling out.

“The sea provides far more harsh instruments of torture than flaying knives.” He heard the Lord Reaper’s boots nearby and cold, salt water was tossed on his chest, along with something else. Ramsay’s entire body seized up as it felt like a thousand sharp knives were being drug across his stomach. He looked down at the gelatinous creature that clung to his abdomen. It was clear with a violet tinge to it, it’s whole body jostling as if it were going to spill over itself. Tentacles dwindled from its round body, sprawling across his skin. Multiple thin spindle like appendages surrounded thicker ones. Tiny needle like barbs covered each one, many of them now in his skin. His eyesight dimmed and he was shaking from pain. His stomach churned again. The creature was pried from his stomach and then thrown on his chest. Hot streams of cum splattered on the red, throbbing flesh of his belly. Vomit came spewing out again, burning his already raw throat. Another abomination was thrown on his cock, causing his whole body to seize and shake, eyes rolling back in his head. He was foaming at the mouth, convulsing against the deck. Darkness ebbed, growing closer and closer until he was finally thrown into nothingness.

 

* * *

 

 

The chanting of the men and his uncle’s laughter spewed from the ship and filled the vacant night air. The laughter itself could have been the darkness that filled the night, utterly wicked and insidious. Theon’s enjoyment was dying as he bared further witness to Euron’s cruelty. He was coming to the conclusion that the man was crueler than even Ramsay, or perhaps just more imaginative. He wanted to protest – to end it. He told himself that was a sign of weakness, not compassion – it was Reek resurfacing. He watched the ship’s Maester usher the injured crewman away to attend to his wound.                                                                                

Ramsay awoke suffocating, hair floating in his face and his insides were still burning. He was ripped from the water and then submerged again. It took a moment for him to realized it was only his head that was underwater. Euron was dunking his head into the bucket that had housed the creature from earlier. He gasped, lungs filling with air before being dunked again.

“Perhaps we should let the crew fuck him – wouldn’t have to worry about another nasty incident occurring.” Euron mused just as he pulled Ramsay’s face from the bucket, making sure he could hear the suggestion.

As Euron dunked him again, Theon replied, “No one else is fucking him.”

Euron smirked just before he jerked Ramsay out of the water again. The Beast of Bolton gasped for air, chest heaving. Theon squatted in front of Ramsay, waiting for the man’s vision to clear and his eyes to find him, “It’s at least eleven more days until we reach Pyke. We can do this each night or you can pledge fealty to me. I can’t guarantee that the crew won’t slip into the cargo hold and have their way with you afterward, unless you submit.”

Water dripped down Ramsay’s neck and onto his chest, running its course around dried blood and cum before dissipating among the dark hair under his naval. His father had a legitimate son with his new wife and he had lost track of Sansa, the only reason his father had for keeping him alive. Why should he endure further rape and torture at the hands of fucking Islanders to keep from tarnishing his father’s name? He bowed his head, looking down into the murky water of the bucket, his form disheveled and completely defeated, “I submit, my lord. I pledge fealty to you, prince Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands.”

“What do you plan to do with him once we reach Pyke?” Euron shoved Ramsay forward, hurling him toward his nephew’s feet.

“I…I can be your servant.” Ramsay gritted his teeth at his own proposal.

“A prince of the Iron Islands has no need for servants. He spends little time on land.” Euron challenged, amusement lighting his eyes as he challenged the Bastard’s suggestions. Ramsay swore he would kill the older Kraken.

“I will see to your matters in Pyke while you’re away on your raids.” Ramsay tore his stare away from Euron and looked up at Theon. Theon who now had a catty smile on his face, the one Catelyn Stark had never trusted when he was a youth, knowing it hide some secret or witty remark.

“I don’t trust you to be left in Pyke during my absence. You will accompany me on every raid, every leave. You will be my salt wife.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of updates! I have been wanting to continue this story for some time but lost the original continuation I was working on. I finally found a little time to devote to this and I'm hoping to get on a monthly schedule of updating.

Consciousness burst into being, clawing and raking its way through peaceful darkness; tearing and ripping him apart. Pale moonlight danced through the boards above him, disrupted in places by the heavy boots of men on the deck. Every part of him burned, parts that he had never been aware of before despite his own intimate knowledge of the human body.  When he tried to move, he felt the muscles of his back spasm and the gashes pull open. His chest, cock, and thighs were scathed in angry welts. His tongue felt too large for his mouth and his pale skin was flushed with fever. Sleep still clung tightly to his mind and he found it difficult to focus his thoughts or his eyes. He felt like a bear awakening from hibernation. A bear that had been swarmed by millions of paper wasps and ants.

"What is dead may never die!"

A storm rumbled in the distance as Ramsay heard the words of House Greyjoy shouted from above him and the responding roar of the crew. He managed to roll his eyes through the relentless waves of nausea.  It was the Crow's Eye. He snarled and clenched his fist, swearing he would flay the so called King of Salt and Rock and feed bits of him to his dogs while he was still alive. 

A white tunic clung to his body, soaked in sweat and blood. Dark, abrasive trousers covered his lower half. Ramsay briefly wondered when he had been clothed and who had done it, but the thought was quickly abandoned as his nostrils flared. He made a face of disgust, inexplicably aware of the dried blood and stench of mildew and Euron's piss clinging to his skin. Dust began to rain down as the men's boots pounded the deck. His stomach turned and he visibly grimaced and pressed his back against the wall behind him, as if he could disappear into the ship itself.  _They're coming to fuck me bloody again_.

The throng of stomping boots faded into the distance but the tight, twisting ball in his stomach did not disappear. Silence stretched out for some odd minutes before he heard the boards softly creak from anxious footsteps. He knew that mouse-like pitter patter anywhere. Despite his appearance and the show he put on earlier, he was still his Reek. Still his pet, not knowing which master to please, but he would soon enough. The older kraken wouldn't take him. He looked up, calling through the boards, "Reek."

His voice was faint, hoarse from dehydration. He tried again. This time the steps paused. He tried to clear his throat but it erupted in a cough that would not subside. The small amount of air that he managed to breath in pressed against his lungs, causing an explosive fit coughs that threw him to shipboards, dry heaving from lack of air. His eyes watered as his hands balled into tight fists. He looked down at his swollen hands as the fit subsided, only to be followed by more pressure on his chest. He could hear his heart beat in his ears, slow and faint. He began clutching his chest and felt something thick and wet. His breath grew more haggard and his vision began to darken.

Despite the anger and rage, he felt relief when Theon appeared beside him, gripping his arm. The maester from before at his other side, calmly retrieving something from his satchel. He felt his leg begin to spasm as the two men helped him to the floor.

Theon looked to the maestar as Ramsay became dead weight. The old man seemed calm as he removed the loose white tunic, even has the man's body began thrashing wildly up upon the planks. "What's wrong?"

"Venom from the creatures, my lord." The maester dipped his fingers into the thick emerald colored concoction as if he had dealt with this many times before. He probably had. Theon remembered swimming in the shores of Pyke with his play mates as a young child. They had all been ensnared by the hideous things at some point but never had he seen such a reaction to their tentacles.

The convulsions continued as a wet gurgling sound emanated from the depths of Ramsay's throat and foam spewed over his lips. He could feel himself passing like a fever from his body; heat rising into the ethers to dissipate into nothingness. Theon's eyes widened and for some reason unknown to him, dread filled his chest. _He's going to die. Ramsay Bolton is going to die from some tiny blob of a sea creature_.

The thought was almost amusing.


	3. Chapter 3

Theon was thankful for the loud clinking of coins falling upon one another as he took count of Euron's spoils from their recent trade agreements in New Ghis and Lys.  Theon had been excluded from the trade negotiations. He told himself it was for the best; he had no experience with the people of Essos or the politics surrounding such delicate affairs. His uncle was as well versed in business as he were war and bloodshed. The sound helped distract him from the shallow panting coming from the cot on the far side of the room. Ramsay’s ragged breaths elicited a storm of shame and guilt deep within him, despite the man’s trespasses on his own mind and body. 

 

"There you are nephew!" Euron's voice was light and tinged with intoxication, "I thought you would be with the crew and the whores since we know that cock of yours works."

"He needs care." He closed his eyes for a moment but continued stacking the coins, trying to ignore the brashness of his uncle’s statement. It came off as blasé but it was intentionally aimed at his conscience. The older man was in the doorway behind him, the candle light dimly dancing over his form.

"That's why we have a maester." Euron pressed his weight against the door, swaying back and forth as the door’s hinges softly squealed. Theon swallowed. The word sounded too close to master.

“He’s busy.” Theon pressed himself not to look at his uncle, as if not seeing him made him less intimidating. He continued counting. It was a true statement; the maester was busy tending to the injured deckhand.

 “Well,” Euron cast his gaze on the younger man, “No reason you can’t do both. Would you like to take him again before I do?”

Theon stopped and glanced over at the other man before returning his attention to his task, “You were there when I declared him mine.”

“Declared him yours?” Euron chuckled, “I thought he had flayed all that naïve arrogance out of you. Show some respect, nephew. I supplied this crew. I captured Ramsay Bolton. He is just as much mine.”

Theon clenched his teeth as he continued stacking the coins. Stacking was all he could manage. He feigned count, too terrified to concentrate on coin when he was on a vessel with two horrid creatures. He began to grow frustrated with his uncle and yet that too frightened him, for it surely wouldn’t end well for him. After all, Euron had raped his own brother’s wife, among his many other wicked deeds. He cursed himself for expecting any respect or boundaries from the man. He was terrified to defy him but just as terrified for Euron to see him as his own Reek.

 

Silence sat heavily over the room for some minutes before the hinge on the door began slowly creaking. Theon looked over his shoulder, finding the man leering at his former captor. Euron was still swinging the door back and forth, dragging out the rusty scream of the hinge. Theon squeezed his eyelids shut as he tried to drown out what Yara had told him of his uncle Aeron's hatred of Euron.

“I have wondered…”

Theon shifted his weight when he noticed his uncle staring at him, a crooked grin at his expense.

"Did he touch you, little nephew?”

The question was asked with such feigned empathy it sounded ludicrous. He stared at his uncle, wide eyed and angry. He refused to answer. 

Euron stepped forward, leaving the door open. He brushed his rough hand affectionately against the stubble of his nephew’s cheek. The Crow Eye’s presence made him want to vomit. To run. To throw himself to the sea and be rid of both monsters; as well as the one he was becoming at the hands of his uncle.

“I could fuck you both if that’s what you’d prefer. No need to be jealous." Euron’s voice was low and filled with amusement and a subtle hint suggestion as he stroked the side of Theon’s face.

The chair clattered against the floor. He wouldn’t let himself become his own uncle’s dog to beat on. He was a rightful prince of Pyke. He was Balon Greyjoy’s only living son. Before his fist could make contact, his arm was twisted behind his back. His uncle’s body pressed against his back. Euron’s breath smelt wretched and heavy. He clucked his tongue against the roof his mouth, voice soft and soothing, “No need to get angry! We wouldn’t want the little prince to get hurt! Now let's play a game."

Between Ramsay and Euron, he had heard that phrase too often. Euron released Theon and took another drink from the small flask before casually tossing it across the room. The king of salt and rock waved his hand over the flickering flame of the candle, “I have spoken with the darkness.”

Theon felt a shiver rush down his spine. His uncle had a tendency to speak in a manner consisting of mystery and ambiguity when he weren’t blunt. He saw the effect it had on people, they were captivated by it as well as put off. Euron grinned at him and pulled up his hood, "Stand back and watch. This will be fun."

 

Euron looked back at him with glimmering eyes that were not his own. Theon visibly swallowed, a noticeable tremor taking residence in his right hand. His uncle took the candle from the small table, leaving Theon and the coins in darkness. Theon pressed his back against the wall of his chamber as he watched himself wink in his direction. It was like seeing his reflection take shape and leave the mirror.

He crossed the room to the cot Ramsay was sprawled in, placing the torch on the floor. He grabbed Ramsay's shoulders and began shaking him frantically, "Master! Master! Please!"

Theon felt bile rise in the back of his throat as he heard his own pitiful voice from across the room. _No. Stop_. The words would not come out of his mouth. He saw Ramsay's eyes slowly open.

Dread swirled in the pit of Theon’s stomach. _He’s going to rape him. He’ll think it’s me again. I…_ Euron would degrade him and Ramsay would fear Theon for it, for something Theon could never bring himself to do again. He told himself it was Euron’s constant whispering in the days leading up to Ramsay’s capture and the pressure of the crew on deck. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t something he could do to another person. _Just like having the farm boys killed in Winterfell_. He bit back his own thoughts, pressure welling in his eyes. He told himself he should be thankful, Euron would make Ramsay submit to him. But he wasn’t. He just wanted to be rid of them both and the growing wreckage in his conscience.

Before Ramsay could strain a word out of his dry throat, Reek threw himself across his chest, "Forgive me, master. Please forgive me! I had no choice."

Ramsay bit his lip as he sat up, a wave of nausea shaking his body. He attempted to press his hand to his head but found that shackles still adorned his wrists. He frowned for a brief moment before looking over at the other man. Excitement sliced through the pain. His Reek was still there. "Where are we?"

"We're docked near Old Town."

The smile vanished as quickly as it had come.

"You stupid creature. Is that what your cunt uncle told you? He would have been docked at the Bay of Ice if he meant to take me to Pyke."

"He had other arrangements in Essos before we returned to the Iron Islands, m'lord."

Ramsay clenched his teeth together.  His pet would not lie to him. They had been at sea far too long to have left from the Bay of Ice.

"Tell me, Reek. Would you like to watch me flay your uncle?" He reached his hand up and brushed a piece of hair out of the man's face.

"Yes, m'lord." Reek nodded enthusiastically, eager to please the man he had scorned. Euron had him pegged perfectly. How little he must have thought of him.

"You know I'll have to punish you as well." Ramsay smiled softly as Reek pressed his face into his hand. He thought of his creature taking him in his mouth as the older Kraken’s warm blood coated his flaying knife. Desire stirred in his gut and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as pain shot through his cock.

"I know, master."

Ramsay smiled at the title. He raised a pale arm and trailed it down the doppelganger's body, stopping at his hip.

"We'll have to do something about that, won't we?" Ramsay looked up at the other man, glee dancing in his eyes.

"Y...Yes, m'lord."

Theon sank to the floor, pressing his fists against his head as a tear streaked his cheek while he watched his uncle feign a shiver. Theon's shoulders jerked as he fought the urge to sob. He would never be free of the man. Even as a near invalid, he was terrified of Ramsay. He wasn't sure if that disturbed him more or Euron’s perfect impersonation.

"Well,” Ramsay grabbed Reek’s side and beamed up at him, "Perhaps not this time."

"Thank you, master." Reek sank to the floor and pressed his head into Ramsay's chest. Theon watched his previous torturer pause before entangling his hand in the hair of his current tormentor’s; his hair. Theon bit his lip. What did that mean? He had raped Ramsay. Surely he would flay his cock this time instead of only cutting it off. His breath increased as he watched the reflection of himself kiss the fingertips on Ramsay’s free hand. _No! Stop it!_ He noticed Ramsay’s eyes slightly widen and how he froze for a moment, surprised by the action.

“Look at you, pretending to be Theon Greyjoy again. I knew you were still my Reek.”

Reek shivered as Ramsay pulled him closer, resting his cheek on the false image's head. He softly stroked Reek's head as he would his favorite bitches after a particularly enjoyable hunt. Theon felt vomit rise in the back of his throat, tears burning at his eyes as raged wracked his body. This wasn’t right. He would kill him as soon as he were healed. Ramsay was playing the same as his uncle. They were a fearsome match.

"We should leave, m'lord - while the crew is gone."

 

Reek pulled away and Ramsay nodded as the frail impostor helped him to stand. The dark-haired man faltered, but Reek caught him, slinging his arm over his shoulders. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment before pressing a flask against Ramsay's full lips. It was similar to the one before, though a fraction smaller, "Drink. It will help with the sickness."

No sooner had Ramsay tilted his head back to drink the elixir was spewed into the air; a trail of blue viscid fluid running down his chin. Ramsay doubled over, gagging and wiping his mouth. The stench of rotten flesh caused Theon's nostrils to flair. The bile in his throat spilled into his mouth. He swallowed it back down.

“You raped me and now you’re trying to poison me?” Ramsay spat as he shoved Reek away from him. He stumbled from the lack of support and caught himself against the wall.

 

The Northmen had vague knowledge of the shade of the evening but Theon did.  As a small child, hiding amongst the cold stone walls in Pyke, he had heard his father speak of Euron being addicted to the concoction - believing it to bestow upon him cetain powers. _"It only brings about hallucinations. That is all. Euron is mad."_

 

"You must, m’lord! We won't have what we need for the salve the maester made."

Theon watched Ramsay slowly take the flask, eyeing Reek with suspicion. He tilted it toward the other man, waiting for him to drink first. Reek took the flash, sipping from it and contorting his face to feign disgust. It had become an acquired taste for Euron. He opened his mouth wide to show Ramsay the blue stain traveling down the back of his tongue and into his throat.

"I trust you have more?" Ramsay regarded him with uncertainty still, eyeing the vial with revulsion. When Reek nodded, Ramsay jerked the flask out of the man's hand and gulped it down, eager to get off the damned ship. He  retched, wondering how even his pet could stomach such a thing. It tasted like everything and yet nothing he had ever tasted.

Reek took the flask from Ramsay, slipping it into his pocket. He pulled Ramsay’s arm over his shoulder and pair shuffled past Theon who was still watching in the dark corner of the room. As their footsteps softened into the distance he picked himself up and followed far behind; he was both curious and fearful to see what Euron would do with the violation of his form.

 

They made their way through the wooden bowels of the ship, candle light streaking along the boards. As they ascended the narrow stairs leading to the deck, the pounding rain became louder. When Reek opened the door to the deck, the night sky was void of stars, swirling grey storm clouds were stretched out as far as the eye could see.

“There is a boat over there, m’lord.” Theon heard his own voice call out over the beating rain. The ship was just over fifty yards from shore. He stayed in the doorway, watching Ramsay limp ahead as Euron slowed his pace, intentionally falling behind. He abandoned character, his walk becoming more of a laissez-faire swagger and less that of a loyal beaten dog.

Ramsay leaned over the bow of the ship, expecting to see the small boat but finding nothing but dark waters. He looked back over to Reek, opening his mouth to curse his creature’s folly but saw the cunt uncle walking toward him. His eyes searched the deck but there was no sign of Reek. Lightening lit the deck and Ramsay could see the light glinting off Euron’s menacing smile. His hand was disappearing into his coat.

Ramsay felt something strange travel down his spine. The same feeling was pooling in his gut; something cold and terrible in the lower pit of his stomach. For the first time in his life he felt fear toward someone other than his lord father. He turned back to the obsidian sea, desperately searching for a row boat. The lightening cracked through the night sky again as he looked back at the older man and for a brief moment, he could swear there were tentacles slithering out from the skirts of his coat.

He looked back to the sea and he saw it - no more than two hundred yards out was another ship. His father stood at the helm.

Lightening split open the sky and something jerked at his foot, pulling him down to the deck. A long, slick tentacle had wrapped around his ankle and was dragging him toward the center of the hull. Ramsay’s eyes trailed up the length of the tentacle, to where it and several others spewed from under the dark leather coat. He twisted around on his stomach, hands searching for purchase along the slippery boards. A deafening sound billowed forth from behind Ramsay. It resonated in his bones, vibrating through his muscles, pulling him downward. The entire ship seemed to sink lower and the roar of the sea became deafening. The boards groaned from the ocean pressure against the frame. A giant rogue wave crashed over the deck, dragging Ramsay with it and sweeping him over the edge. He grasped onto the edge, unable to adjust his grip due to the shackles.

“Hello, little rabbit.” Euron smiled down at him, pressing his boot onto Ramsay’s fingers. He pressed the horn to his lips again. Barnacle crusted tentacles slithered out of the horn as the thing sang out its gravity crushing melody.

Ramsay’s fingers slipped over the wet railing and he could feel himself falling, descending through the darkness. He looked up to see the two Greyjoys staring over the rail just before the murky waters consumed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta'd, so I apologize for any errors! I want to thank you guys so much for the kudos and lovely comments, they warm my heart.

_***_  

_Sunlight bathed the area around the grove but dared not touch the woodland, as if the sun itself were afraid of the Palace of Dust. Euron stood in the small grove of trees, their trunks as black as a starless night with leaves of indigo. He looked up at the tower, windowless and menacing like a cobra ready to strike. Pyat Pree stood at the entrance, awaiting Euron’s arrival, chalice in hand. The man himself looked like a snake, from the narrow rounded shape of his head to the garbs he wore, dyed in shades of pale purples and blues; the colors of asphyxiation. Euron took the goblet, pressing it to his lips, shade of the evening staining his lips. He had convened with the warlocks of Qarth twice before, aware of their customs. He stepped into the first room, dimly lit by torch and stained with the faint smell of old death. Fat silver worms crawled from the crevices in the stonework.  Three menacing doors faced him. The room smelt of a cemetery, fresh soil and damp stone._

_***_

 

Lightening streaked across the night sky, cutting through the swirling storm clouds. As he plunged toward the surface of the ocean, Ramsay caught a brief glimpse of his reflection; fear was in the water. He had little experience swimming; reserved to bathhouses, small ponds, and hot springs. Upon impact, something serrated through the flesh of his thigh. He thrashed in the current, losing any control as the undertow pulled him down further and swept him forward. He recalled how he came to be in his current situation. His father had warned him against hunting during the pending war but he didn’t heed his words. After all, with the whispers of his penchant for torture, who would dare? Now he was drowning in his own arrogance. He didn’t fight for long, preferring the sea claim him than Euron.

The Crow’s Eye smiled down at the dark waters before pushing off the rail.  When he turned to his nephew, he found that the boy had scurried to the other side of the ship, preparing a small row boat for descent. Theon ignored his uncle as Euron dropped down from the deck into the boat, continuing to work the ropes and lower the vessel. When it touched the surface of the water, he began quickly untying the knots, releasing the boat into the angry sea. The ocean itself were a reflection of his mind, waves of emotions crashing over one another _. He’s going to drown._ This thought trumped over all the others: _Be happy that he’s gone - he deserves this. Push Euron into the ocean as well._ The smile remained on Euron’s face as if he could read his treacherous thoughts, pleased by them. It sent a shiver down Theon’s spine. He reached for the oars as Euron’s voice cut through the crashing waves, “He’s caught in the undertow. When it breaks, the tide will eventually wash him to shore. You can’t row against the waves. Go toward the beach.”

The waves quickly pushed them around the starboard and in front of the ship’s bow. Theon’s eyes flitted about the waves, searching for any sign of the other man. The waves were pushing them too quickly toward shore.  Within mere minutes, they were running the small vessel up the shore. After dragging the boat into the sand, activity in the surf attracted their attention. Euron lagged behind, watching Theon sprint forth. Some of the crew had left the tavern and whorehouse to investigate the sound that had shook the buildings and resonated within their bones. Euron nodded to the men in acknowledgement as they gathered near him. Electricity was in the air, welling up like fire in the belly of a dragon.

Ramsay gasped has he heaved his own wet mass on shore, vomiting salt water.  Sprawling tentacles were manifesting from the receding waves, bent on pulling him back into the hungry belly of the ocean. His eyes stung from the salt water but he could see Lord Bolton’s ship in the distance. His father had come and brought with him over two hundred men, bows strings pulled taught. The arrows would rain down upon the crew and cut through Euron Greyjoy. Ramsay smiled at the thought. He would remove what the woods witch restored and reclaim his Reek with interest. A dark mass rose out of the water some five hundred yards from shore, sending torrents of water crashing over his father’s ship. The massive creature’s eruption from the water sent forth soaring waves that somehow managed to dissipate before reaching the shore. His heart nearly stopped. It was a behemoth, taller than any structure Ramsay had laid eyes on. It’s body was composed of slick black muscle and tentacles sprawling from underneath it and spewing out from its mouth, lined with jagged teeth. He began backpedaling through the surf to put as much distance between himself and the creature.

Euron was chuckling to himself. The low laughter emanating from him grew higher in pitch as he looked at the crew and then back to Ramsay. When his gaze returned to bastard on the beach, he saw Theon lifting him out of the surf. Blood was mixing with the water, washing up on the sand. There was a large tear on the outer thigh of his pant; The skin had been torn several inches by a jagged rock.

Theon watched the man’s eyes panic, absolute fear conveyed on his face. Ramsay’s whole body was trembling as his eyes remained fixed on the ocean. It pleased him. He had told Yara that he didn’t want revenge, that Ramsay had been his punishment for betraying Robb and the deaths of the farm boys. He truly believed that, but still the sight of fear instilled in Ramsay Bolton was satisfying. He tried to squash it – telling himself it was from the seed Euron had planted. But the truth was, it was a remnant of Theon Greyjoy before he had ever been Reek. He pushed the thought to the side and knelt beside Ramsay, lightly placing his hand on the other man’s, “There’s nothing there. It’s just the evening shade.”

Euron watched as his nephew hauled the man toward the row boat nearby. Euron placed his hands on his hips, walking toward the pair. As Theon bent to adjust his hold on the frantic man, Euron delivered a hard kick to his ribs. Theon fell to the sand beside Ramsay. Another blow, and another, each one falling in the hallow just below his ribs. Ramsay’s fingers dug into the sand. Theon clutched his stomach, glaring up at his uncle. Before he could rise, a flurry of movement knocked him back down. Ramsay was on top of Euron, slamming the iron shackles into his face. He landed several hits before the crew pulled him off. Euron set up, pressing his hand to his split lip. There was a small sliver of blood but nothing more. He smeared the crimson fluid between his thumb and finger, feeling the warmth. He smiled at Ramsay who was thrashing against the crewmen. In the distance, the ocean still bellowed; the Drowned God roared through the crashing waves.

Euron pulled himself to his feet, keeping his eyes locked on Ramsay. He remained calm and unaltered by the attack. The crew forced Ramsay to his knees. The bastard glared up at the Kraken, chest heaving and mouth twitching into a snarl like a rabid dog.  Euron walked toward him and stroked the bastard’s cheek with his knuckles. He turned back to Theon. The boy was spitting blood onto the sand.

“It is only tough love, nephew. You are a prince! Lord Reaper of Pyke - not his servant!” Euron outstretched his arms in a show of comradery. His smile grew when Theon looked up at him, hatred cast in his stare. The look only seemed to amuse the Crow’s Eye.

“I am sorry, little Theon. I have failed you.” Euron spoke more to the men surrounding them than to Theon, his voice becoming lighter as it always did when he was putting on airs,  “When Ned Stark captured you during the rebellion, I should have come for you. I should have stepped up when Balon did not. I should have wiped out that entire house years ago. But I didn’t. And because of it, you’re broken and weak. You’ve sullied our name and our house. I swear to amend my brother’s short coming as a father. I will turn you into the Ironborn you were meant to be – into the Lord Reaper our people deserve!”

Boisterous cheers erupted from the small crowd of men and Euron held his hand out to his nephew. His grin remained as he turned his attention to Ramsay, spurred on by the small group of men. Euron looked out to the sea as he shifted his weight. He needed to piss.

"You will pay the iron price for what you have done to my blood. You will pay it double. Triple. Since you have pledged fealty to House Greyjoy, I think it’s time for you to convert to our faith."

“There is no sept.” Ramsay stated, keeping his eyes locked on Euron, the hair rising on his arms when the man looked at him. He hated himself for the fear the man invoked in him.

“There is no priest.” Theon stated flatly, eying his uncle.

“Our sept is all around us, bastard.” Euron briefly gestured toward the ocean, wide armed. He turned his gaze from Ramsay to Theon, placing his hand on his nephew’s shoulder, “The Drowned God has spoken to me, nephew. I shall speak the words.”

Theon kept his eyes trained on his uncle. Euron was too jovial, far from the dark tone his voice usually took when speaking of their faith as well as the occult. Euron began the words but no one had bothered to fetch a skin of sea water. It was wrong. It wasn’t how the ceremonies were carried out.

Theon watched in disgust as his uncle unlatched his belt buckle and casually relieved himself on Ramsay for the second time. He stepped back to avoid the stream as it splashed near his boots, feeling pity and empathy swirl in his stomach like the storm clouds above them.

A warm stream of rancid piss streaked Ramsay’s hair and the side of his face before splashing over his collarbone and then concentrating on his chest. Ramsay’s body became ridged with disbelief. Disbelief that it was happening a second time. Disbelief that someone dared to do it the first time. Disbelief at the sheer vulgarity of the Kraken cunt before him. A firm slap landed on his cheek. He glared up at Euron and the man beamed at him, his seething hot rage met with further amusement. Euron turned his attention toward the few crewmen on the beach, “Take the bastard back to his cell.”

The sound of the men’s laughter faded as they walked toward him. Euron leaned forward, whispering in his ear, “I am your God now.”

 

_***_

 

 _Just kill me._ Ramsay recalled Theon begging him countless times in the dank dungeons of the Dreadfort. Now Theon’s voice was replaced with his own in his head. The men heaved him into a cot, his wet clothes instantly soaking it and ruining any hope he had for sleep later on. One of the men, a balding greasy creature, winked at him. Ramsay’s upper lip curled into a snarl but the man continued to smile at him, “I will rip your skin off and send your cocks to your wives.”

The men laughed. They didn’t fear him. Euron Greyjoy had taken the one true thing he had claim to; his reputation.

"Leave us." Euron called over his shoulder to the crew as he fingered the Dragonbinder hanging from a chain around his neck. The crewman blew a loud wet kiss toward Ramsay before following the Kraken’s order. Euron gave a forced smirk at the man before turning his attention to the piss soaked bastard.

Ramsay closed his eyes as a sinking feeling tore through his stomach. There was no denying Euron’s relation to Theon. The man was more muscular, his skin a more golden brown, ripe with adventure on the seas, whereas Reek's had been sallow from the winter skies, even when he had been Theon. Ramsay had heard the stories of Theon's uncles as a child; tales of strategic battles and ruthlessness. Tales of rape and madness when concerning Euron Greyjoy. He had reveled in them all.

Euron smiled down at the younger man as he crossed his arms, thumb stroking his bottom lip. He wasn't sure if the bastard was pressing against the wall behing the cot in pain or in a pathetic attempt to put as much distance between them as possible. Either way, he found it alluring,  "Don't worry little rabbit, the men won’t stay aboard. We have docked for the night and they will take their fill with whores."

"And what of you?" Ramsay glared at Euron as his smirk widened. Rage boiled under his skin, on the cusp of erupting again. He was a Bolton. Not a fucking squid. Not a bear. Not a fish. Not a hawk. Not a damned wolf. He hunted those beasts and the men who bore their likeness on their banners alike.

Euron flashed a bottle at him and for the first time since the man entered his cell, he noticed the bluish tint of his lips. He pressed his finger against the corner of Ramsay's mouth and drug it along his jawline. He kept dragging it, passed Ramsay's ear and to the wall behind him until he was following the crevice in the boards, slowly walking away and humming to himself.

The room suddenly felt cold. He had been captivated by the tales of Euron, even after being captured by the man, he found himself drawn to him. He liked to imagine they were cut from the same cloth, but now he found himself staring at someone who’s ego and experience in cruelty outweighed his own.

“How did you do that? That trick.”

“Have you ever been to Qarth?” Euron began circling back to Ramsay, dragging a fingernail along the wall.

Ramsay shook his head slightly, following the man’s movement.

“No. I suppose not. Your father probably didn’t want to parade his shame around with him.” Euron stated flatly, taking a seat on a barrel placed near the cot. He smiled as Ramsay locked his jaw, grinding his teeth, “Well, in Qarth lies the House of the Undying – the home of powerful warlocks. Oh what intrigues and truth it holds within!”

“Warlocks.” Ramsay’s eyes narrowed. The older Greyjoy was full of shit. Somehow the man had convinced Theon to willfully pretend to be Reek again – he wanted to know how.

“You doubt this? When you see my dear sweet nephew’s body restored by a woods witch – a maegi?” Euron chuckled as he bent over the cot, looking directly into the bastard’s eyes, “Essos is unlike Westeros. It is filled with freakish creatures - the likes of which you could never imagine. I could take you there, we’re not far.”

 _Was Old Town a lie?_  They had been at sea for so long, Ramsay had no idea where they were or where they were going. He felt his stomach churn and sweat dripped down his brow from fever. He closed his eyes as nausea wracked his body; the remnants of the sea creatures’ caress. If he died perhaps his father could avoid war with Jon Snow and his heathen wildlings, flee or request amnesty and return to the Dreadfort. Euron knelt in front of him, glee dancing in his eyes despite Ramsay's unwavering stare of apprehension.

“I could shackle your neck and walk you naked through the streets of Lys for all to see. Your pale skin would be exotic to them,” He climbed on top of Ramsay, straddling his thighs. Ramsay pressed his back into the cot, trying to put some kind of distance between them but the man was all consuming. He pressed his head back in an attempt to avoid the stench of the potion that laced Euron’s breath, exposing his neck and making his jugular vein more prominent. Euron trailed his finger along the vein, smiling at the discomfort he caused, not only to his bitch nephew but also to the renowned beast of Bolton, “I’d lead you to the pleasure house and fuck you while others bid on the next turn.”

Ramsay’s lips contorted into a snarl, rage bubbling in his veins. Euron ran his tongue along the curve of Ramsay’s ear. The boy smelt of his own piss; It was erotic, “This will be easier if you lie back.”

Euron pressed his hand to Ramsay’s chest and pale icy blue eyes locked on him. The bastard refused to budge. Euron shrugged and jerked Ramsay’s shackled hands above his head, attaching them to a rusted hook at the head of the cot. He smiled as the man twisted around, frantically pulling at the heavy hook.

Ramsay felt his heart thrashing against his ribcage, the sound of it pounding in his ears amplified as Euron’s hands found the hem of his pants. He sucked in a sharp breath, focusing on the boards above him as one finger began tracing the skin along the hem. The edges of his vision were beginning to darken as his blood pressure rose. Euron's large hand grabbed a fistful of hair, jerking Ramsay’s head to the side. He smiled as the boy seethed in a beautiful mixture of anger and fear. He was shaking. Euron’s thick tongue trailed over Ramsay’s jaw line, "You look lovely when you're afraid, little beast. Open your mouth."

Ramsay glared up at the older man, grinding his teeth through clenched jaws. The faint moon light beaming through the boards caused a glint as Euron flashed his canines.

“I can make things much worse for you.” Euron pressed his thumb against Ramsay’s lips again, “Open. Your. Mouth.”

Ramsay complied, feeling the salt laden skin of Euron’s thumb brush over his bottom teeth, pushing back over them and resting on his tongue. He looked to the side, staring into the darkness of the floor. Ramsay refused to look at him or close his eyes, fixing his stare on the barrels lining the opposite side of the room. Euron parted his mouth, smiling at the state of Bolton’s bastard: wounded, flushed with fever, stinking of urine; humiliated.

“I can be as kind as I can be cruel. Some even find me alluring,” Euron chuckled to himself as his thumb traced the velvety inside of Ramsay’s cheek. Cold eyes cut through matted mess of dark hair crusted with blood, sea salt, and piss, “Have you ever ripped a man’s tongue out? Felt the sudden lax of such a strong muscle? It’s almost calming. Now, make use of yours or I’ll rip it from your skull.”

Light footsteps sounded down the hallway, coming closer.  Ramsay swallowed down the remaining shreds of himself, choking out a soft, “Help me.”

The words were strained and his voice sounded weak. Ramsay closed his eyes tightly. Euron had taken everything now.  Theon paused, flight and fight instincts pugnaciously flitting about in his head as he took in the sight of Ramsay with his arms tied above his head, Euron looming over him like revenge incarnate.

“Please!” Ramsay shouted at Theon, pulling against the restraints. Theon swallowed. The metal clattered as Euron grabbed Ramsay’s hips, dragging him down the bed, “No! No! Get him off me!”

Euron nodded in his nephew’s direction as he climbed off Ramsay, retrieving something from the table beside the cot. He held up a large needle with thick thread attached, “Our prisoner cannot take the same pain he inflicts. I was just tending his wound. Would you like to do it?”

Theon was not dumb enough to believe the explanation but he was thankful for it. He shook his head, “I can find the maester.”

“There’s no need.” Euron jerked the hem of Ramsay’s pants down, tugging them over his knees.  He had a life’s experience in stitching the flesh of his crew and himself. He looked up at Ramsay, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Whoever had dressed him hadn’t bothered with small clothes. He was laid out for both men to see. Ramsay silently cursed the unnamed deckhand, promising him a few severed fingers before being flayed. He looked away from Euron and toward Theon. He had been unabashedly naked in front of Reek in the past when Reek would bring him his bath or assist with dressing. He could tell it still made him feel just as uneasy as it did then, despite the implication now being in Theon’s court. He winced as Euron pressed the needle into the tattered flesh of his thigh, feeling the thread slide through his skin before the needle pierced the other side.

Theon knelt beside Ramsay, holding a small basin of water. He swirled a piece of cloth that was already in the bowl before ringing it out. Ramsay closed his eyes. _It’s a trick. That’s all. No different than any other time._ He told himself over and over; Similar to the act he put on for Theon when they first met. Nothing else. Theon ran the cloth over his hair, cleaning it of urine. Ramsay inhaled slowly, concentrating on the feeling of thread pulling his skin together like a doll made of meat, “Please, _my prince_. Take me to your cabin.”

He practically hissed the title. He knew what the man really was and what he was not. He was no longer the turncloak, Theon Greyjoy. Certainly no longer an entitled prince of some dreary little island. Theon had died long ago. He was his Reek. _Until you’re rotting in the ground._ He watched Theon walk toward him, pulling something from his pocket. He swore if it was that stinking shit again he would slit his throat.

“Milk of the poppy,” Theon offered, ignoring Ramsay’s request. Ramsay regarded him with suspicion. Theon popped off the small cork, watching Ramsay’s nostrils flair as he smelt it. When he parted his lips for him, Theon felt a jolt travel to his cock. He disregarded it as and set his mind to his task at hand, administering the medicine.

“We're not heathens, nephew. I think you should answer your prisoner’s plea.” Euron smiled as Theon looked at him, lost by the statement “He was practically begging for you to fuck him.”

Theon turned away from his uncle, catching sight of Ramsay’s lips lightly sucking at the empty vial. He inhaled deeply, surprised at how stimulating the sight of such a vile man could be. When the man’s eyes locked on his he felt his stomach bottom out and a stirring in his groin, a feeling he had long forgotten. He swallowed hard, looking at Ramsay. Ramsay’s eyes didn’t shy away. Of course they didn’t. They remained fixed on him, like a hawk preparing to swoop down on its prey. It was the same stare that would send him into an anxious panic laced fear before was now causing his cock to harden.

“I’ll make arrangements for you.” Theon nodded. He quickly gathered himself and left the room. He held the wash basin in one hand and wiped his brow with the other. When he was out of the sight, he paused, inhaling deeply. His hand were shaking. He closed his eyes in an attempt to collect himself before continuing down the narrow hallway and up the stairs.

Ramsay’s eyes trailed after his former servant for a moment. The sentence was full of ambiguity and possibilities. What were these arrangements? From the sound of it, it wouldn’t be in the man’s chamber. A small private cabin? He hoped he wouldn’t be in a shared room with the crew. He hoped it would be Theon’s cabin. He would prefer the arrogant little squid over Euron any day. He would convince him to unshackle him and help him kill his uncle. Reek was still in there, he knew it. He always would be.

Euron raised his brow, watching his nephew leave. He stared in the absent man’s direction for some minutes before returning his attention to Ramsay, “Do you know what would really satisfy me?”

“I’m sure it has something to do with your cock.” Ramsay snorted, finding a small sense of comfort in Theon’s promise.

"Well, I suppose one could draw a connection.” Euron flicked his tongue over his lips, dry from the sea air.  "But no, little rabbit. I promised to turn my nephew into the Lord Reaper that our people deserve. Help me with this and I will return you to your home. Or I’ll give you land and lordship in the Iron Islands. In Essos. Whatever you like.”

“And what is it you would have me do?” Ramsay was growing tired of the name.

“The only way that little shit will be what they deserve is dead. When we return to Pyke, I want you to kill him. Not the day we return. Perhaps not even this year, but you will kill him for me."

Ramsay's eyes briefly flickered over the Crow’s Eye, a crooked smile contorted his pale face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to extend a million thanks to spankingfemme and NightLore for reviewing and proofing this <3.
> 
> This chapter is essentially smut. If that's not your thing and you're reading this for other reasons, feel free to skip the chapter. Warnings (?): Three way, double penetration, and blood.

Ramsay could feel Euron’s eyes still burning through his skin, long after he was out of the man’s line of sight. He followed Theon to a sparsely adorned cabin. It was small, with only a bed and a small table. The quarters were intended for a higher ranking ship hand but not the captain. The bed was tightly made with two thin sheets. A lantern and small mortar bowl with pestle sat on the table.

“These aren’t your quarters.” The words were presented carefully. Perhaps they were. Ramsay didn’t doubt that Euron had taken over the cabin intended for the ship’s captain.

“No.”

Theon used the torch to light the lantern on the bedside table. When he turned back to him, Ramsay shifted he weight and locked his eyes with the other man, waiting for the young Greyjoy to make a move. Wasn’t that what was expected with his new title? To be slammed against the wall, his shackled hands to be jerked above his head again, and a body pressed firmly against his. To be fucked against the wall. He wasn’t. Instead, Theon picked up the stone bowl and turned to Ramsay.

“Your shirt.”

It wasn’t his. It was too large and still soaking wet with a mixture of sea water and Euron; though he supposed they were one and the same. The water was dripping on the floor.

“Thank you.”

The words were difficult to form in his mouth, jagged and foreign.

“Don’t. If my uncle really wanted to torture or rape you, nothing could stop him.”

Theon stepped forward, his movements slow and careful as he took the bottom of the shirt in his hand and lifted it over Ramsay’s head. He quickly helped Ramsay out of his pants, pulling the hem over his knees and letting them gather around the man’s feet before Ramsay stepped out of them. Theon frowned as he regarded the welts and lashes covering the front of the bastard’s body.

“Where is the maester?”

Ramsay was beginning to wonder if the elderly man had been a figment of his imagination. The man had been mentioned at his last two dressings yet he had seen no sign of him in some time. He flinched as Theon lightly smeared the poultice over an angry welt on his chest.

“I had a hand in dealing these. I should help mend them. The poultice will keep infection from your other wounds as well.”

Silence enveloped the room for a few brief moments as Theon continued tending to the wounds. Ramsay took in slow measured breaths as he watched Theon smear the concoction across his skin. He could tell the man was focusing only on the simple task, afraid he would be overcome with fear or hatred if he didn’t stay busy.

“You regret it.” Ramsay was careful to keep his smile at bay. It amused him. For all the pain he had dealt Reek, the man regretted punishing him. Ramsay observed the other man; a remnant torn between two former selves. If he could bring himself to bend a little, it wouldn’t take much. Theon wanted to be rid of his uncle just as much as Ramsay did.

The statement caught him off guard, halting his work briefly. He didn’t respond. It wasn’t something that could be denounced. Euron was under the assumption that Ramsay had broken him. Theon Greyjoy was nothing like his uncle. Even before Reek had come to be, Theon had struggled with his identity. All those lovely little feelings of abandonment had chipped away at him. He and Ramsay were both sons wanting their fathers’ acknowledgment. Perhaps most men were. Perhaps that was how it had been rather easy for Ramsay to possess him the way he had, knowing his fears and self-hatred for betraying House Stark – the only family he had known.

He moved to the lashings on Ramsay’s back, feeling the man’s body become ridged under his touch. He handed Ramsay the pestle to squeeze. He hadn’t realized how many gashes adorned the pale expanse of flesh. It was easier to count the strips of skin that remained than the number of blows, some of them overlapping others, causing large separations of flesh, some lacerations deeper than others.

Theon rounded back to Ramsay’s front, sucking in a deep breath and holding it in his lungs as he prepared himself for his next task. He lowered himself to his knees and dipped his fingers back in the poultice, wanting to make one quick go of it. He smeared the gob of thick seaweed laden ointment across the raised red welt running diagonally across Ramsay’s cock. He traced around the underside, ensuring it was thoroughly covered. He avoided looking up at the man but he could feel his eyes on him. He expected a comment but one never came.

Ramsay recalled the night they were in a similar position, though he were clothed in that instance. It was when he confronted Theon regarding his reunion with Sansa. The man had been on his knees before him then, nervously eying his flaying knife as he awaited punishment. He had told him with a smirk that he forgave him. He wished now that he had fucked his mouth.  He uttered those same words.

“I forgive you.”

Ramsay watched as Theon looked up at him with the same look of confusion, brow furrowing. He lifted his shackled hands and brushed his fingers against Theon’s jawline. He needed in the man’s good graces. Euron would use him to take the Iron Islands and then to take the North. He wasn’t a fool. The man didn’t look at him as an equal, he looked at him as something to be conquered; a means to greater things. It was the same way he had looked at Theon with regard to Moat Cailin. He would gain his trust and when he did, he would tell him of Euron’s treachery. Together they would devise a plan to kill the cunt. Perhaps he would even leave Theon to rule over those horrid little islanders or he would claim Pyke for his father.

Theon exhaled slowly, biting back the relief bubbling up in his chest. He told himself he was no longer Reek – Theon didn’t need nor want the bastard’s forgiveness. But Reek did. He was still there, hiding away in the corners of his mind. Not hiding, no, he had taken up permanent residence. He leaned his head against Ramsay’s hand. Perhaps Theon was seeking forgiveness as well. A multitude of it.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Euron’s voice cut through the moment, resonating from the darkness of the hallway. He produced a pomegranate from his coat pocket, a small spoil from the recent trade agreements. The Crow’s Eye looked at the scene in front of him, little Theon on his knees. If he hadn’t noticed the salve, he still wouldn’t be surprised at the scene.

Ramsay glared at Theon’s uncle, biting back the curses on his tongue. He had hoped going along with his request would earn him a reprieve from the man. He found himself feeling stupid for the expectation. The man was far more experienced with physical and psychological warfare than him; he would never allow them to be alone for long. He already knew every move that Ramsay may make to regain his hold over his nephew.

Theon stood slowly, eyeing Ramsay. A noticeable change took place within him when Euron was there. His confidence diminished while rage and fear festered under the surface. He may have enjoyed the change if his uncle’s presence didn’t evoke the same later emotion in himself.

Euron bit into the pomegranate, the sound of skin breaking and teeth sinking into the fruit's flesh caught Ramsay's attention. He noticed the bastard staring at his mouth, watching as the juice dribbled over his chin. He was hungry. How many days had it been since he was given a scrap of food? Three? Four? Euron smiled, watching the bastard eye him like a dog awaiting a scrap. He tossed another to Theon.

Ramsay felt a tremor vibrate in the pit of his stomach as the fruit was tossed past him. His eyes followed its trajectory as it fell into Theon’s hands. He pressed his lips together,  watching Theon bite into the fruit, releasing a sweet fragrance in the air. Tiny seeds lined the inside of the thing, glistening like tiny rubies. The smell of it was beckoning him to the younger Kraken. It invited desire.

Euron watched the bastard, the smile still on his face. He was expecting him to turn into a hungry beast and snatch the fruit from his nephew. Instead, something rather unexpected happened. Ramsay pressed his lips against the younger Greyjoy’s. Theon gasped in surprise and Ramsay seized the opportunity to press his tongue past his lips, seeking the bit of fruit. He caressed the side of Theon’s tongue with his for a moment before capturing the piece of fruit. He pulled away, staring at Theon as he chewed. The thing was sweet and strange, foreign to the North. Once he swallowed, Theon grabbed him again in another hungry kiss. He squeezed his eyes shut, anxiety swirling in the pit of his stomach as his self-denigration grew.

He imagined sharing Ramsay with his uncle, passing the bastard back and forth as he licked the sweet nectar from their necks and ate from their mouths - it was much more pleasant than the night terrors he had of both monsters tearing him apart. The thought of using Ramsay like a common whore caused something to stir in the darkness of his mind. He wouldn’t admit it before but he wanted to hurt him. He wanted to strip away all the parts of Ramsay that Theon still feared. He didn’t forgive the man for all he had done – not only to him but to Sansa.  The only way he knew to do that was by bringing him to his knees again. He had to fuck the arrogance out of him. His hands roughly slid down the sharp angle of Ramsay’s hips, grabbing possessively at his ass, “I hate you.”

Ramsay’s shackled  hands were pressed between his naked body and Theon’s clothed manhood. His finger’s stretched out, brushing over Theon’s hard cock.

“Do you?”

The sound of Ramsay’s raspy voice sent a jolt through his body. Blood rushed between his legs, causing his cock to throb. Theon bit down on the man’s lip, breaking the skin.

The pain brought forth a wave of pleasure, resonating from the same receptors in his brain. Ramsay closed his eyes, letting Reek kiss him. They were back in Winterfell. In his bedchamber. He had returned from a long hunt to find Reek touching himself, laid out in the furs on his bed. His remaining fingers ghosting over the scar between his legs before pressing against the skin between his hole and his missing cock. His pet was dressed in the armor he had returned to him in order to take Moat Cailin. Ramsay hated to admit that he had found him somewhat attractive in the armor of House Greyjoy, dressed as a proper little noble. It was a fantasy he had developed since allowing Reek to roam the grounds on his own, no longer tethered in the dungeon of the Dreadfort. He twisted his wrists against the manacles, wanting to pull Reek on top of him on the bed. He wanted to grab his frail hips and push him down on his cock.

The thought faded as quickly as it came when he felt Theon’s slender fingers pressed against the small of his back, slipping down between his legs and teasing his sore hole. Ramsay groaned, ashamed as his cock stood at full attention, pressing against the other man’s thigh. He tried to slip back into the thought, trying to give himself some semblance of control. This is how he should have rewarded Reek after he had taken the fort; letting him touch him in that place. Surely he would have thought the offer was a trick and it would have resulted with the confused creature weeping on his chamber floor.

Theon drew in a slow breath as he felt Ramsay’s arousal. He held the air in his lungs and pressed his lips together to keep the river of soft words locked in his mouth – he had always been a talker. He slipped his fingers out of Ramsay, watching his mouth open almost as if he were protesting their absence. He wondered if the monster enjoyed the pain when he was on the receiving end of it. He pressed his lips back against Ramsay’s hot mouth and began backing him up to the bed. He needed to climb on top of him and dominate him, pushing Reek further into his past.

Theon was too caught up in the moment to pay attention to exactly what he was backing the other man into. Ramsay's bare ass pressed against something firm and unmoving - it wasn't the bed. He heard himself moan as Euron's hands grabbed his waist, slick leather pressing into the supple skin of his ass. He bit his tongue, fear welling up in his chest, clawing up his throat. He didn’t want the Crow’s Eye there. Theon was dominating his mouth and squeezing his hips possessively as Euron sucked at his neck, sending small waves of pleasure from the capillaries he was breaking. 

“Come, little beast. Devour your morsel.”

Euron bit into the pomegranate and opened his mouth; The sweet bit of fruit visible on his tongue, beckoning Ramsay forth. The bastard pressed his mouth against his. He pushed his tongue past Euron’s teeth, brushing against the bit of fruit. Euron pulled back, denying him. He smiled as Ramsay’s eyes stared at his mouth. He pressed his lips back against Ramsay’s, pressing the pomegranate pulp into his mouth. Ramsay pulled away slowly, swallowing the piece of fruit along with his pride. He knew he should put up a fight, but it would serve no purpose other than for them to leave him bloodied when they were finished. No, he may as well find pleasure in the ordeal. What he really wanted was for one of the men to suck his cock, but he knew better than to push - he wouldn't be able to use Theon's guilt to that extent; Reek was too far buried. To his surprise he did feel a hand lightly brush over his erection.

"Do you like that? I told you I can be kind.”

Euron spoke in a soft whisper, kissing the back of Ramsay's earlobe. Fingertips grazed up and down his shaft, circling the head of his cock. He pressed back against Euron in response, the man’s other hand gliding up his neck.

He wanted to snarl at the man. He wanted to shout that no, what he would like would be for the cunt to leave – that would be the kindness he wanted;  but his blushing erection was telling another story. Instead he remained quiet, thankful as Theon pressed his lips to his, groping at Ramsay's thighs, sure to leave angry red scratches and bruises.

The thought of sharing Ramsay had been erotic but in reality jealousy was overcoming any allure it had. Their lips were red with the blood from the bite Theon had inflected. Ramsay tasted the coppery fluid on his tongue, mixing with Theon's saliva. His body was on fire, fully aroused. Euron's kept his ministrations, fingers ghosted along the underside of the bastard’s manhood, his knuckles brushing over Theon's clothed erection in turn. Theon's hands slid around Ramsay, grabbing possessively at his ass as Euron rocked against it.

Theon took another bite of the crimson fruit and passed the piece into Ramsay’s mouth. Before he finished chewing, Theon smashed his mouth back against his; a clash of teeth and sweet nectar. He pulled away and pressed the pomegranate against the bastard’s lips. He watched as Ramsay bit at it hungrily, the juice glistening down his neck and dissipating along his collarbone as small seeds spilled over his chest. Euron began licking at the sticky nectar on his neck while Theon pressed his lips to the delicate bone, lapping at the sweet skin and swallowing some of the seeds. Ramsay's head fell back, panting with desire. He felt vulnerable, pressed naked between the two leather clad men, terrified of the one. It was thrilling. He no longer cared about his ego. He knew what he'd want to hear if the positions were reversed.

"Please, my lords. My prince," He quickly corrected as Theon paused, looking up at him. He pressed his hand against Theon's cock, it was bulging through the leather breeches. He searched his memory for words used by the Ironborn. He pressed his reddened lips back to Theon's softly before pulling back.

"I am yours to reave."

Euron chuckled softly. Everything seemed to amuse the older Kraken. Theon looked at Ramsay, the words sounded foreign coming from his mouth. They pulled him out of the licentious fog that had consumed his mind, trying to decide if it was one of the bastard's tricks. His voice was full of need, face determined but reserved as if he could be rejected; Lips parted and swollen, sweetened from the fruit. It was too much. He grabbed the side of Ramsay's face and pressed his mouth back against his. Bound hands began grabbing desperately at his trousers, clumsily undoing them. The fog was rolling back over him, threatening to consume him. Theon opened his mouth to make a demand of Ramsay Bolton – something he had never imagined possible.

"On your knees."

His cock throbbed, straining against the seam of his pants as Ramsay lowered himself slowly to his knees; His eyes not breaking contact, blue eyes piercing through him. Theon felt a mixture of power and awe.

"Where is your contraption?" Theon looked toward his uncle, referring to the mouth guard.

”No!" Ramsay licked his lips. He could taste the steel brace at the mere mention of it. The corners of his mouth stung at the memory. He would prefer uttering a few degrading words over the soreness it would cause him. He continued when Theon looked back to him, "Please, my prince…I want to be able to swallow every drop you allow me."

Theon nearly came. His manhood was much more sensitive to words and touch since being restored. He was unsure if it was the newness of the flesh or the years without touch. Lacking grace, he shoved his pants down, quickly stepping out of them before he ruined the garment. His cock was flushed, precum glistening in the slit. Ramsay pressed his lips together, inhaling deeply. _No one else will know_ , he reassured himself. A musk filled the small room, smelling of heated skin and the heavy scent of the sea. He licked his lips and opened his mouth. Theon steadied himself as he looked at the sight before him, reaching out and brushing his fingertips over Ramsay's full lips. He took his cock in his other hand, pressing the head against Ramsay's lips, smearing precum across them. He watched Ramsay lick his lips, parting his own in wonder.

"You taste delicious, my Prince." In truth, Theon tasted of salt and a blandness Ramsay couldn’t quite place. He had always wondered how Myranda and the other girls had stomached it; but it turned out not to be so bad. He tried to remember the things they had done and said to him to warrant kindness. Ramsay leaned forward, brushing his wet lips up and down the length of Theon's throbbing cock. After several passes, he began suckling at the head. Ramsay's hot mouth slid down his shaft, tongue dancing around the width to slick him up. He began to choke just past the midway point. Theon moaned, closing his eyes to try and calm himself. Theon felt a nerve in his leg twitch. Ramsay glanced up a the other man, wondering if he had looked so vulnerable to the women when he was in the same position. It was almost empowering.

"You look lovely like that,” Euron knelt behind Ramsay, whispering in his ear as he pressed his lips against the man's pale neck. He stroked Ramsay's arm, cock throbbing as he watched him take the other man’s cock in his mouth. He pressed his teeth to the bastard's ear, nibbling at his earlobe, "That's it. That's a good boy."

He wished Euron weren’t there, not just because it would lessen his work. He hated that any leeway he may make with Theon would be instantly negated by the presence of the Crow’s Eye. The man had a larger hold over Theon than he did and it drove him mad. He would have to ensure that Euron didn’t doubt their arrangement. He swallowed hard, intent on removing enough of himself from the moment to impress both men; concentrating on the animalistic yearning for power and pleasure – what little of it he could gain. He began bobbing his head faster, inspired by the noises Theon was making; the sharp intakes of breath, the low groans, the airy gasps.

The Crows Eye stood, moving beside Theon. He unlatched his buckle and presented himself to Ramsay, who began eagerly lapping at his cock. Theon started to protest from lack of contact but was cut off as Ramsay returned his affections to him, lips obscenely sliding down his shaft. Euron grabbed Theon's cock, pressing it against his own. Theon tried to jerk away from his uncle but quickly realized what was happening. He watched as Ramsay tried to take the two thick Greyjoy cocks at once, stretching his mouth wide. Teeth grazed his recently restored manhood, sending a shiver up his spine. Even though it proved fruitless, Theon was mesmerized by the sight. He closed his eyes and locked his jaw as Euron's cock slid against his, Ramsay's tongue licking up and down the two organs. Theon's eyes opened wide when his uncle's hand brushed his lower thigh, sliding up over the curve of his cheek and grabbing his ass hard. Euron moved his other hand down Ramsay's cheek as he continued his work.

"Do all the lords of Westeros love cock as much as you?"

Ramsay didn't respond, eyes half lidded, concentrating on taking the men deeper down his throat; Each gag and cough making them harder. Theon concentrated on the feeling of Ramsay's mouth, trying to ignore his uncle's hand grabbing his ass. Their eyes met again and Ramsay slid Theon’s cock fully down his throat, trying to suppress his gag relax but ultimately failing. Theon took in a deep breath, even the failure was a turn on; His cock was too much for Ramsay. He felt a sliver of his old self restored. The bastard quickly overcame defeat, taking it out of his mouth and sucking in one of his balls, rolling it on his tongue.

Euron watched Bolton's Bastard pleasure his nephew, his own cock throbbing with need. He squeezed Theon's ass harder, wanting to pull him on the bed and fuck him while Ramsay continued sucking his cock. He'd make the twat cum down the bastard's throat while fucking his ass. He reminded himself that wouldn't be becoming of an uncle. Instead, he gave a stinging smack to Theon's ass and moved away from the pair. He removed his remaining leathers and propped himself up on the small bed, watching the sight before him. He laid back on the bed, slowly stroking his cock. He smirked when Ramsay turned toward him and he patted the bed. The bastard led Theon to the bed, pulling his hand behind him. Euron grinned as Ramsay crawled up the bed, kissing and licking his way up his thighs. Ramsay broke his gaze with the Crow’s Eye when he turned back to Theon, seeing the young Kraken staring at his ass on display. Theon closed his eyes for a moment, running his hands over the curve of Ramsay's ass. He planted a hand on each cheek, spreading him apart and pressing his thumbs inside Ramsay, stretching the tight ring of muscle.

It was too much. Ramsay pressed the side of his head to the bed. His eyes closed tightly and his mouth hung open, his wet lips leaving marks on the bed. The pain was overriding his senses, blocking any reservations the world had given him about being sodomized. He surrendered to the loss of power. It felt good. It felt like something he had yearned for in the curiosity of the night, too ashamed to acknowledge it. He pressed back against Theon, fucking himself on the digits, moaning loudly into the sheets. He looked up and Euron began rubbing his thick cock against his mouth. Ramsay opened his mouth, his tongue tracing a thick vein that ran along the underside of the man’s cock.

Theon's fingers dug into supple pale flesh as his thumbs all but disappeared. It reminded him of Reek’s amputated fingers. He pulled Ramsay closer to him and pressed his spit slicked cock against his entrance. Ramsay moaned with Euron still down his throat, sending vibrations over it. He whimpered as his hole began to burn from the invasion. Theon threw his head back, his cock throbbing from the sounds he was eliciting from Ramsay. Something was found inside of him, shooting white hot jolts of pleasure deep within his body. Ramsay pulled away from Euron, releasing a loud unbridled moan into the room. It echoed down the dark hallway. He was panting as Theon kept hitting the pleasure pit within him. Euron guided his wet cock back to Ramsay’s mouth. Euron's hand snaked up the bastard’s neck. His fingers gently glided through his hair as he watched the pale younger man slide he wet lips up and down his cock. Theon began working a rhythm, fucking in earnest. He wanted the crew to hear how much Ramsay Bolton enjoyed being fucked by their prince.

Euron buried his fingers in the dark mess of hair before firmly pushing the boy's head down, slowly forcing his cock further into the back of his throat. He grinned as Ramsay's eyes frantically looked up at him. The boy began gagging hard, his throat tightening around his thick cock, mucus coating it. Ramsay's bound hands began digging into Euron's thighs as he attempted to pull away. Euron ignored his reaction and kept guiding his head up and down. The tears gathering in the corner of Ramsay's eyes were the tipping point, murmured protests sending vibrations through his cock.

"Shh," Euron came hard down Ramsay's throat. As his cock softened, he released his hold on the man's head. Euron smiled as Ramsay sputtered up cum, quickly wiping it from his mouth, "No, no. You said every drop. Don't hurt my feelings and tell me you only meant little Theon."

Ramsay clenched his jaw, lowering his eyes. He felt humiliated on a new level. This one wasn’t so enticing. Euron sat up, watching as Ramsay licked his essence from his hand. He tilted his head in awe as Ramsay began lapping the little droplets from the bed while Theon kept pounding into him.

"Yes, that's it. Lick up every drop. Make daddy proud."

Ramsay silently fumed, unsure if Euron was referring to himself or taunting him by referring to his lord father. The shame was soon abolished by a jolt of pleasure as Theon's cock brushed against that spot again, ecstasy emanating deep inside and pulsing through Ramsay’s cock. _Bless that fucking witch_.

Euron smiled as precum dripped from Ramsay's cock while Theon leaned over the pale beast, thrusting full hilt. He was proud of his nephew in that moment. He leaned forward swiping his thumb over Ramsay's erection.

"Look at how much he loves being fucked ."

Euron held his thumb up for Theon to view, precum glistening in the light of the lantern. He watched in awe as Theon took the thick digit in his mouth, suckling at it. Theon glanced at his uncle through heavy lidded eyes; Fear calmed by lust. Euron raised his brow, smirking at his nephew.

Theon pulled away after a moment, leaning back over Ramsay. He pressed his lips against Ramsay’s ear.

"You taste good too, Lord Bolton."

Theon's voice was breathy as he kept thrusting against that glorious spot inside of him, nearly sending him over the edge without so much as hand touching him. Theon may not have caught his own use of Ramsay's title, but the other two men did. Euron's gaze flickered over to Ramsay. If the title was meant to be derogatory to the man’s situation, the bastard didn’t take it as so. His teeth flashed in a subtle smile and he nearly whimpered as Theon pulled out, feeling empty. Ramsay looked over his shoulder, disappointment apparent on his face. He was quickly flipped on his back, Theon's slender hands grabbing each calve and pushing them to his chest as he leaned back into him, allowing himself full access. Theon sunk back inside of Ramsay, giving the bastard all of his cock. The position allowed him to push deeper and see the bastard’s face as he explored unchartered depths. Ramsay laid with his bound hands above his head, fingers curling into his palms to form fists. His eyes were screwed tightly shut and his mouth was agape. Theon was mesmerized by his wet lips, swollen and a lovely shade of pink from the stained blood and gratuitous sucking.

“Does it hurt?”

His mouth ghosted over Ramsay’s nipple, licking and nipping. He brought his hand up to give attention to the other, squeezing and rubbing his thumb over it. His other hand clasped Ramsay’s thigh. Ramsay gave a slight nod, biting into the pulpy flesh of his bottom lip.

“Good.”

Theon responded with another deep thrust of his hips. When Ramsay arched against him, his insides contracting around him, a loud moan fell from his lips. Ramsay’s fingers dug into the bedding as Theon’s cock brushed up against that delicate little bundle of nerves again. He bit down on the Kraken’s shoulder, gasping in pleasure when he broke away. Warm streaks of white marked his stomach and chest, some streaking Theon’s abdomen. Theon closed his eyes and imagined sunlight streaming through the summer forest. A forest full of dead women, ripped apart by Ramsay’s bitches. He tried to push the later vision away. He began moving in tandem with Ramsay’s quick breaths, fingers digging into his hips and jerking him toward him, going deeper and deeper until his balls were slapping against the curved flesh.

Ramsay threw his head back in a deep moan, pressing his wounded back into the welcome support of the bed. Everything hurt and felt beautiful. He closed his eyes, thinking of the warm furs of his bed sunken beneath him as Reek climbed on top of him to ride his cock, his slender frame basked in candlelight. His lovely mutilated hands planted on Ramsay’s chest so he could ride him faster, amputated nubs pressing into Ramsay’s skin. Theon shifted his weight as he raised his hip, lifting up on his foot and bending his knee. He began swaying his hips, working himself in a slow rotating thrust, every few gaining a loud gasp.  Ramsay was struggling to stay within his fantasy. He was trying not to admit that he enjoyed both worlds; of being conquered and of dominating.

Ramsay felt his face growing hot as he heard himself crying out into the belly of the ship. He was receiving too much stimulation. His cum was cooling on his stomach and Theon was still pumping away at that forbidden spot inside him. He was twisting the sheet in his fist, writhing on the bed as he tried to hold back all the little noises that escaped him. He wanted to beg him to stop. He bit down on his own tongue and squeezed his eyes shut.

Euron knelt at his head, brushing his fingers along Ramsay's cheek. Ramsay turned his head, hungrily taking them in his mouth and sucking at them. The Crow’s Eye smiled down at him, cock growing heavy against his thigh.  He pulled his hand away from Ramsay, shifting on the bed. Theon’s pace was quickly interrupted by Euron’s strong hands on his own hips, pushing him to the side. His cock was hard again, bobbing with each shift of the bed.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m sure we can both fit.” Euron didn’t wait for invitation, pressing two fingers inside Ramsay, sliding them against the underside of Theon’s cock. Ramsay yelped like an injured pup as the fingers tore at the inside of the tight muscle, already being stretched to the limit by Theon. Euron twisted his fingers and pressed in a third, smiling at the resistance. Ramsay’s head snapped back and his mouth hung open. His vision was beginning to falter. He jammed his heel into Euron’s chest.

The Crow’s Eye laughed, grabbing Ramsay’s calve with his free hand and twisting his leg, the taught muscles of his arm flexing. He leaned over Ramsay, pinning his leg flat against the bed with his knee. He grabbed his bound hands, shoving them against the wall and holding them in place with one hand. Ramsay’s lips were thinned to a vicious snarl, nearly foaming at the mouth. Euron slipped his fingers out, coated in dark crimson. He shoved them into Ramsay’s mouth, causing the bastard to choke on them.

“Remember what I said about ripping out your tongue. Now lie still while we fuck you like a bloody bitch in heat.”

Euron shifted his weight on the bed, lining himself up with Ramsay. His thigh brushed Theon’s. Theon took in a sharp breath through his nose, his nostrils flared, filling with the scent of blood. He was seeing red.

“Get out.”

The words were quiet. He wondered if he had even said it. Euron didn’t seem to hear it, pressing Ramsay’s leg into his chest and began leaning into him. Ramsay’s hands formed fist, his knuckles turning white as a deep groan escaped his throat. Theon could feel the head of Euron’s cock stretching Ramsay out around him.

“Get out!” Theon shouted, raising his voice for the first time in years. Euron paused. Theon couldn’t see it, but Ramsay could – the murderous rage that cast over the older Kraken’s face. He watched in wonder, waiting for the man to backhand Theon and beat him to a pulp. He didn’t. A similar thought flashed in Euron’s mind, along with choking his little shit stain of a nephew and fucking him bloody on the floor. The expression washed from his face as he turned to Theon. He pulled his fingers out of Ramsay’s mouth, wet blood glistening on his lips.

“As you wish, little prince.” Euron threw his hands up in mock surrender and smiled at Theon.

Ramsay watched the older man collect himself, lifting his trousers. Euron pressed a large hand against Ramsay’s chest, trailing it down past his stomach, stopping to squeeze his hip. Ramsay’s gaze shifted to Theon. He was still glaring after his uncle, chest heaving and eyes wild with anger. It was appealing.

Ramsay pulled himself up into a sitting position, bringing his bound hands to brush his fingers over Theon’s face, feeling the stubble in the hollow of his cheek. He wanted to remember the lines of his face when he looked like this.

“Don’t stop.”

Theon looked back at him, kissing his fingertips as Ramsay laid back down, readjusting his hips while Theon followed his lead. It was too tender. He ran his fingers up the back of Ramsay’s neck, grabbing the hair at the nape. Ramsay moaned, his head jerking back. Theon sucked at the man’s exposed throat, biting into it. He felt Ramsay tense and saw his lips part. He adjusted his pace, speeding up, pulling completely out to slam back in full hilt. He shuddered when the bastard moaned from the pain. Ramsay’s pale legs wrapped around him, pulling him in closer. Theon continued sucking at his neck, leaving marks over the ones Euron had made.

“Should I wish to return you to Winterfell eventually, I have a contingency,” Theon kept his pace, running his hands down Ramsay’s sides, feeling the outline of his ribs under pale flushed skin. He gave a sharp thrust, signally Ramsay to respond.

“Yes?”

Two more. Ramsay bit into his shoulder.

“Yes, my prince?”

Theon smiled, his ego expanding.

“I will come to visit with you every other fortnight. When I arrive, your father will greet me in the main hall. You will be there,”

Theon slowed his thrusts, trying to finish his demand between pants.

“You will lead me to your chamber where I will fuck you for the span of the evening.”

What he truly wanted was for Roose Bolton to walk in on them - to see his son splayed out underneath the Greyjoy, fingers grasping the furs on the bed as his knuckles turned snow white, face blushing, eyes narrowed, moaning as Theon fucked him.

The proposition infuriated and aroused Ramsay. Part of him enjoyed the lapse of control, of being put on his back and filled by the man. The other part wanted to flay Theon’s cock again for the demand.

“Do you promise?”

Theon bit down on Ramsay’s shoulder as he came hard, spilling his seed deep inside the bastard. Ramsay arched against him, moaning as he felt the man’s cock pulse inside him. Theon pressed his mouth against the crook of the Ramsay’s neck one last time, biting his lip as he watched his semen leak from Ramsay when he pulled out of him. Theon shifted off the bed and began dressing, avoiding eye contact with the other man.

Ramsay watched Theon open the cabin door, pausing for a moment.

“I’ll have a meal sent to you.”

With that he exited the room, closing the door behind him. Ramsay could hear a key in the lock and the bolt slide in place. The door was too small for the jamb, allowing darkness to outline the space between. An obsidian shadow squirmed in the darkness, slithering through the frame and engulfing the door.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The morning light warmed the boards of the long ship as waves lapped lazily at its hull. Euron regarded his nephew silently from across the deck as he began pulling up the catch nets from along the starboard bow. They would arrive at Lordsport before the morning came to a close. Excitement stirred with the thought of what the day held. Watching his nephew address the Ironborn was always entertaining. They would be riled for the bastard's trial and awaiting participation in the punishment. It wasn’t that they wanted justice for what their prince had endured, they just enjoyed a break from their mundane lives of fishing, weaving, whoring, blacksmithing, and whatever else occupied their days.

Theon glanced about the crew as they sat about their morning duties. For the past three days the men had given him knowing nods and glances. They regarded him with some manner of fraternal respect that hadn't been there before. It garnered a combination of pride and shame. Despite all the things Ramsay had done to him, he had never raped him. There had been occasional baths where the man's hands roamed over his body, admiring his handy work – a human patchwork of scars and amputations. But he had never defiled him in such an intimate physical way. A whistle cut through the sea air. He looked back toward his uncle and he noticed Euron giving the key to one of the crew.

“Bring the prisoner on deck.”

Theon swallowed. He had avoided Ramsay since taking him three days ago. Unfortunately he hadn't been able to avoid the thought of him. His nights were spent replaying the sound of his moans and his lips forming the words “reave me” over and over. Images of his hands grasping the sheets had kept him company through the long nights. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and focused on the net that was being pulled from the sea.

***

A high pitched wail pierced thorough the darkness of dreamless sleep. The screaming hinge of the cabin door pulled his eyelids open. He had slept for close to three days, awakening only to the small meals and when the maester would tend to his wounds and suturing a few of the lashings on his back. He would often wake in the dead of night to whispers and some metal instrument clinking in the lock; the sound of the crew attempting to beat or rape him. Often they would give up immediately, finding the door would not budge. Other times they would kick at the door with their boots in an effort to knock it off its hinges. They always failed.

A hulking beast of a man stood in the doorway. He was just as ugly as the rest of the Ironborn. Ramsay found himself wondering if the two Greyjoy’s were the only descendants of the Iron Islands that weren’t completely hideous. The hatch to the deck was open – morning light illuminating the planks of the hallway.

“Lord Reaper wants you on deck.”

The man motioned to the doorway with a slight nod of his head, not making any further movements to collect him. Ramsay stared at him for a moment and then stepped forward, making his way into the hall. The man closely followed him up the stairs to the deck. Ramsay wasn’t sure to which Greyjoy "Lord Reaper" was designated  but he assumed it were an interchangeable title for “prince” or “king”. The title itself was more befitting of the Crow’s Eye than Theon.

Once they breached the stairs, the daylight stung his eyes. He squinted as the sun fell on his face and a gull screeched as it flew by. The man shoved into his shoulder to get him moving again. He was herded to a small huddle of men pulling a large net full of fish over the rail of the ship. The roped ball of shimmering steel colored bodies fell to the deck and the net was quickly cut open. The small creatures began beating themselves about on the planks. He saw Theon step back from the group. The man’s face was fresh shaven and his hair was becoming more auburn brown;  hair and skin no longer etiolated from food and light deprivation.  When the young Kraken’s eyes found him, he felt his body flush and anxiety took shape in his chest. The reaction of his body made him angry. He expected the young Greyjoy to be in a bout of inguinal arrogance in his presence. Instead, Theon turned to him. His face was earnest and Ramsay could see the uneasiness in his eyes. There was an accrementition of nervousness between them. His irritation was settled somewhat when he saw the uneasiness in the other man’s expression. He still wasn’t confident in addressing him.

“There’s to be a feast once we arrive at Pyke. Help the crew with cleaning the fish.”

Ramsay stared at the man for a moment. He was being asked to gut and clean stinking fish. By Reek. No. He was being _told_ to gut and clean stinking fish - by Reek.

Theon pressed his lips together as he awaiting a response from Ramsay, verbal or otherwise. A mixture of irritation and fear ran rampant in his mind. It had been difficult enough to make a demand of a man who used to torture and lord over him but the lack of acknowledgement was making him question his position. Perhaps this was all a trick and Euron was in on it. After all, it had been his own people that had handed him over to Ramsay in the first place. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to think that. His sister would have never agreed to Euron’s plan if she had expected him to be aligned with the Bolton's. He was the rightful heir and trueborn prince of Pyke. He shouldn’t feel such anxiety over making demands of a prisoner. The small group of men that had been hoisting the net were watching him. He opened his mouth and took a step forward, hoping his voice wouldn’t falter.

“Do you understand, bastard?”

Ramsay’s eyes widened, anger burning behind blue irises. His words ushered out through clenched teeth in a laniary sneer.

“I am the legitimized son of Roose Bolton, Warden of the North. I won’t touch those stinking fish like some kitchen wench.”

Before Theon could interject, a man chimed in.

“Hear that? Ramsay Bolton is not a kitchen wench but he moans like a high paid whore!”

A burst of laughter erupted from the small group as two other men stepped forward.

“Sounded like a right little bitch begging for a fuck the other night!”

“We all heard you. You kept us up half the night, bastard.”

Ramsay looked at Theon who looked at the men with a hint of glee in his eyes. He felt his stomach turn. Theon’s eyes flitted over to him and the young Kraken pressed his lips tightly together in a smug smirk that stretched across his face. Ramsay’s hands clenched into fists. He heard Euron calling out to someone in the distance. Blue eyes searched the deck for him, wanting to tear into something for taking Reek further away from him.

“That’s enough. Leave us.”

Theon’s words were soft and despite the lack of any authoritarian tone, he found the men still complied. He watched them leave, feeling Ramsay’s stare burning into him.

“I’m sorry for that.”

He looked down at the fish near his feet. One had stopped thrashing around the deck, its gills rising and falling in its final breaths. He slid a small knife from his pocket. The smug look remained on his face.

“You _were_ loud though.”

Ramsay dug his fingers into the palms of his hands. They were still clenched into tight fists. Theon bent down and picked up the fish. He sat on a nearby barrel and laid it out on another barrel beside him. He pressed the tip of the blade into the fish’s belly and slid it along the flesh to its head. Ramsay watched as long fingers spread the body open and began to remove the thing’s entrails and tiny organs. He looked away and his eyes landed on Euron. The Crow’s Eye was directing a group bringing more barrels from the cargo hold that had originally been Ramsay’s small prison. He watched the man pause and look out to sea as if he were expecting something.  

Ramsay followed the man’s gaze. His eyes widened in wonder and brief fear as something massive began to appear out of the mists beyond the ship. Dark jagged cliffs eroded out of the sea some three miles away. A small port town rested at its base. His eyes traveled up the crags, seeing the barren cliffs blend into tall towers. It was foreboding and all together impressive. He watched Euron abandon his task and approach the helm of the ship. He took the wheel and began steering the ship toward Lordsport. Theon traced Ramsay’s gaze to his uncle. He turned his attention to the next fish.

“You want my uncle.”

He meant for the words to sound in jest – a chide to welcome conversation. There was no resemblance to humor in his tone when he heard it with his own ears. He continued gutting the fish, not making eye contact with the other man. Ramsay scoffed. His face contorted in disbelief and disgust. When Theon gave him a pointed glare before looking back at the fish, he laughed for the first time in weeks. He recognized the tone that the other man had taken. He was familiar with it in Myranda. Although, unlike Myranda, it amused him.

“I don't. You sound jealous.”

Theon’s eyes glanced up for a moment before picking up another fish and turning his attention to the blade. He was and he hadn’t meant for it to be so obvious. Not because of love or some fleeting warm feeling. Because everyone would always prefer Euron to him. In matters of lust, politics, war, and company.

“Jealous? I think the other night is misconstruing your perception of my intentions. Euron is not unlike you. He’s probably something you strive to be - he's a goal. He has power, experience -.”

“No.”

The laughter stopped. Ramsay looked at the other man, astounded. How could he be serious? The simple truth was needed before the conversation became more ridiculous. Any attempt to make it flowery would come off as false.

“What I want,” Ramsay licked his lips, planning his next words carefully, “Is to be pardoned by you and allowed to return to the North. I would also ask that you rethink your counsel.”

Theon studied Ramsay’s face. The attention caused Ramsay to look away, breaking his stare with the other man.  The crew were hurrying around them, preparing to dock.

“Why do you care who is in my counsel or what happens to me if you return to the North?”

“You said you'd visit me every other fortnight. I don't want something to halt our reunions.”

Ramsay’s words were successfully said in jest. Theon looked out beyond the port. He didn't know why he had expected a real answer. As his eyes drifted over the grey clad Ironborn on the docks awaiting their arrival, he caught a glimpse of Yara. Her face was determined and her eyes were searching the deck of the ship. The crowd was clearing out of her way.

“What do you have planned for me? What’s next?”

Theon ignored the question and returned his attention to the fish. He grabbed another and placed it on the barrel. He began pressing the knife into its curved belly. Ramsay looked at him with a raised brow. He also ignored the look.

“You're the prince. The Lord Reaper.”

“Euron is Lord Reaper. I am prince in title and that's the extent of it. I don't have much control over the Iron Islands.”

“You prefer it that way – the lack of control.”

Theon noticed the smile that tugged at the corner of Ramsay’s mouth. He wanted to punch him. Instead he continued guiding the knife through the belly of the fish.

“I never made the right decisions when I had control. You saw the mess I made of Winterfell.”

“So you allow your uncle to rule the Iron Islands in your place?”

“Lord Reaper isn’t a sovereign title. It’s a title held only by Greyjoy lineage. He rules the sea but not the islands or the people. Any plans for war or trade must be agreed upon before he can carry them out.”

“Do you think Euron Greyjoy is happy being a glorified general?”

Despite the menacing title, that was what it amounted to. A strong wind blew over the ship and he turned his nose with it, thankful for the slight reprieve from the smell of fish. It was more slight than expected as a fist collided with his cheek. He felt the blow resonate in his teeth and he stumbled, catching himself before he fell. As he steadied himself, he looked over to see Theon holding back an enraged woman. Her face was rather plain looking past the rage that distorted it. It took a moment for him to recognize her, the  sister who had attacked his kennels to rescue Reek. The woman spat in his face, still fuming.

“You will pay for what you did to my baby brother and the Ironborn you slaughtered!”

He looked at his assailant as ran his forearm across his face, wiping away the blood and spit. He wondered if she would rape him as well - that seemed to be how the Greyjoy’s punished those who wronged their kin.

Yara jerked against her brother's grasp. How could he sit there on the ship deck with the monster like they were old friends? The bastard remained silent. She felt a steady hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t her brother’s hand. She glanced at her uncle with unease, regarding him briefly before turning her stare back to Ramsay. Ramsay noticed the way she looked at Euron. It was with the same regard her brother did, with fear.

 “Uncle.”

Euron pressed his hand firmly into Ramsay’s shoulder, indicating for him to knell. Ramsay reluctantly complied.

“Sweet niece, the bastard was punished on the voyage. Little Theon has declared him his salt wife and the bastard has pledged fealty to House Greyjoy. There is still the audience.”

The fire raging in Yara's glare lowered. She looked between the men, subtle disbelief evident on her face that her ruined brother could accomplish such a feat. Yara smiled at Theon as relief settle in her heart. She had feared leaving him in Euron's care and silently prayed to the Drowned God for his safety.

“I pledged fealty to Theon Greyjoy,” Ramsay corrected the Crow's Eye, sneering at the resonating memory of humiliation and fear.

“And with that, to House Greyjoy and the Iron Islands. As what normally happens when one swears fealty to a prince...”

Euron glanced over Ramsay. He was beginning to wonder if the man was just playing his part well for little Theon before the slaughter or if he were being double crossed. Perhaps the bastard just enjoyed being irritating but Euron still entertained both possibilities. He never would have won so many battles without contingency plans. He began to speak again when the bastard didn’t. He stopped when noticed his niece opening her mouth.

“We will hold the audience during the feast.”

Yara turned to Ramsay, bringing up her hand. She pressed her thumb under his chin, tilting his face toward her.

 “I would like to see you beg. I bet you look good doing it. You'll bend the knee and beg forgiveness for all to see. Do you understand?”

Euron grabbed Ramsay by the hair, jerking his head back. His pale eyes locked on the woman.

“Yes.”

***

Ramsay could hear the festering mull of the crowd behind the doors. He waited outside the dining hall with four guards. He had been placed in a small wet cell that was underneath the gate house while the banquet had been prepared. The cell could flood with a high enough tide and he hoped it would not be permanent chambers. He was glad when the guards retrieved him for the feast but was now dreading further humiliation. His hands were still shackled, now with a heavy chain attached and looped through a neck collar and held by one of the guards. It reminded him of what Euron had mentioned on the ship; of leading him through the streets and letting men bid on his ass. He twisted his hands in the manacles, the clinking of the chain drawing the guards attention. The men straightened their posture, ready to lunge at him if needed.

He glanced around the hall. Everything about the place reflected the island and its inhabitants: grey, dreary, lackluster, and boring. He wondered if the Greyjoy’s would rape him on the table for the entire crowd to view. He found that his mind was often anticipating his next rape. He wouldn’t mind the sister so much. Ramsay thought of his newly wed wife. She found no pleasure in their encounters as he had with Theon. It caused shame to spread through his chest. Not at the thought of what he had done to her but at himself on the ship. There was never a question of Sansa's lack of consent. He had become a writhing slut between the Krakens.

Pressure began mounting in his chest now that he thought of facing the men again. Nervous laughter shook his body when he realized the terror Reek was causing in him, for it wasn’t just Euron Greyjoy and the crowd he dreaded facing. He inhaled. His lungs expanded but it didn’t feel like they were working to push the air back out. He looked toward the tall arched stone windows at the night sea, dark and portentous. He could hear the crashing waves far below. It felt as if tentacles were wrapping around his chest and squeezing the life from him. The tall doors opened. He swallowed. His eyes searched the crowd for Theon. The throng of Ironborn stared at him, a low murmur setting over the crowd. Euron appeared from the mass, taking the chain from the guard.

“I've missed you, little rabbit.”

Euron smirked as he jerked the chain forward, pulling Ramsay along like a dog. He took in short breaths, trying to steady the rage building in his mind. _Don't provoke them_. _What would you do in their place?_ The thought was in his father’s voice; advice he had offered at some point in his childhood. He imagined the situation reversed - if Reek had been captured after escaping and brought to him before a crowd. Any resistance or aggression from the man would have driven him to humiliate or torture him further. Still, it proved difficult not to snarl or lunge at the crowd. Perhaps he were a beast after all.

As they made their way through the mass of people he found Theon sitting at the head table, watching him. Their gazes remained fixed on one another as Euron placed Ramsay before the table, before Theon and Yara. 

All eyes were on Theon as he continued to stare at Ramsay. This wasn't good. Ramsay recognized the look in his eyes. He was dreading what were about to happen. After moments of waiting for Theon to speak, Euron turned to the crowd.

“We have taken Roose Bolton's bastard as our prisoner! Ramsay Bolton will pay for the crimes he has bestowed upon our prince!”

The crowd erupted into brutal suggestions.

“Gut him!”

“Hang him!”

“Stone him!”

“Feed him the metal pear!”

“Shove it up his arse!”

Euron smiled at the proposals, beaming at the crowd like a father proud of his children.

“All wonderful ideas! But! The prince has enjoyed the bastard's company during the voyage.”

A mixture of booing and cat calls were ushered throughout the crowd. Ramsay told himself the hideous cretins weren’t important enough to instigate a response. His hands still clenched into tight fists.

“Ramsay Bolton is needed to culminate our position in the seven kingdoms.”

Theon interjected, watching disdain wash over the crowd. They had wanted bloodshed. Euron had assured him they would be upset but they would settle on “a little light hearted public torture”. They wouldn’t receive that either.

Euron jerked the chain, cueing Ramsay to kneel. His father’s words repeated in his head and he lowered himself to one knee. He searched for the words, rising like bile in his throat.

“Please, Prince Greyjoy. I beg your forgiveness for all the ways I have wronged you. I wish to serve you completely. If you allow me, I will write to him urging him for his compliance in establishing a treaty between Winterfell and the Iron Islands. I pledge fealty to you, Theon Greyjoy. I am yours to do with as you will.”

Theon tore his gaze from Ramsay and looked out over the crowd. He wasn’t particularly interested in Ramsay’s words; They stirred a reaction in his groin but he didn’t believe any of them for a moment. The crowd was composed of an ugly lot, faces twisted with expectations of agony and humiliation. He didn't care about pleasing them.

“You will make penance by serving me. We will open negotiations with your father for land and trade agreements in the North.”

“Yes, my prince. I am yours to command.”

Euron cleared his throat and Theon glanced at him. The man's face was expectant. He held a coiled whip in his hands. Yara nodded.

“As punishment for your crimes, my family has petitioned to have you whipped through the streets then placed in a pillory for the night. They want you stripped naked and positioned so the men of the island can have their way with you.”

The crowd cheered. Ramsay closed his eyes. He became more aware of the sutures holding the flesh of his back together and his whole body tensing at the thought of being raped again. If he were to endure one more lashing, he may become a pathetic mess before they even passed the gatehouse. Everything inside of him was telling him to plead for mercy but he saw the man’s face. He wasn’t finished speaking. He was goading him on. He clenched his hands at the nerve of Reek to prod him. He wanted to lash out at him but he continued to remind himself of his father’s advice regarding his impulsive nature. It was difficult. Theon swallowed as he looked back to Ramsay, surprised at the man's silence. He could tell he was seething under the surface. It wasn't Ramsay's reaction he feared.

“I named you my salt wife on the open sea for the Drowned God to witness. You are mine to punish and no one else’s. You will immediately begin your servitude to me and forgo their petition.”

The crowd roared in surprise and discontent. The anger he felt moments ago dissipated into relief. Reek defied Euron Greyjoy’s orders on his behalf. He saw the look Euron gave him, his eyes glaring at him in furious irritation. The man held his tongue, taking a seat at the table next to Theon’s. Ramsay bowed his head.

“Thank you, prince Theon.”

“Unchain him.” Theon directed a young guard.

The crowd turned away and began conversing among their selves, continuing with the feast despite their displeasure. The guard was barely a man; he had probably not seen his nineteenth name day. He hadn't been on the ship among the crew - he still feared the Bastard of Bolton. Ramsay felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth and he immediately corrected it. He looked up at Theon who nodded toward him. He wanted him now. In front of the hideous lot of Ironborn. In front of his cunt sister and his whore mongering uncle. He thought of the smug look Theon had given him on the ship. It made him want him all the more. His cock was swelling against the cloth of his pants. He turned his attention back to the young guard and watched him hesitate. The boy carefully removed the collar from his neck and then opened the manacles around his wrists. Euron watched him from across the floor. Ramsay rubbed at the reddened flesh, noticing for the first time how it itched. He stepped forward, toward the head table. In his peripheral vision, he saw Euron stand. He waited for approval to approach further. Theon motioned him to his side. Ramsay picked up a wine carafe from the table and Theon's glass, his voice low.

“My father will not barter property or otherwise for my return or safety.”

It was a cold statement but nevertheless true. Theon looked at him briefly, appreciating the honesty. He looked back toward the crowd as he spoke softly.

“I’ve considered that possibility. If you remember, neither would my father. I believe your father favors you more than mine did me, his true born son. If your father will not negotiate, you will remain here until an opportunity presents itself.”

Despite their hushed whispers, Euron had heard them. The Lord Reaper’s chest brushed against his arm, too close for comfort. He ran his fingertips down Ramsay's shoulder. Ramsay sat Theon's glass on the table along with the pitcher and glared at the older man.

“You're important to me, little rabbit - regardless of your standing with your father. Should we all celebrate our return tonight in my chamber?”

Euron handed Ramsay his glass of wine. He took it and Euron poured himself another. Ramsay knew he should humor the man but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Besides, it would endanger the trust he was trying to build with Theon. He remained silent.

“That won’t be happening again, uncle. I’m sure you can find a number of women…or men…that have been anxious for your return.”

“Well, well, Little Theon! I was wondering if those balls were just for show!”

Euron smiled at his nephew and tilted his glass. As he turned, his gaze locked with Ramsay’s. The Crow’s Eye winked at the bastard and Ramsay gave a subtle nod.  He waited for the man to travel out of earshot before leaning closer to Theon. He didn’t want to return to the cell just above the sea.

“Will I be accompanying you to your chamber?”

Theon felt his cock twitch at the suggestion the words carried. He could smell the mulled wine on Ramsay’s breath. Theon knew it was a matter to be addressed that night but he had wanted to avoid it as long as possible.

“Only in the manner a servant generally would. You never made such demands of me, I won’t make them of you.”

Ramsay looked at the other man in amusement. He wasn't very good at being a captor or at being Ironborn. Ramsay recalled tales of their violent nature, reeving and raping both near and distant lands.

“I would prefer you make such demands of me.”

Theon inhaled slowly. He knew why Ramsay wanted in his chamber; He wanted to avoid Euron. Anything he gained would be thanks to his uncle in one way or another. He looked over at the Lord Reaper as he traced the inside of his cheek with his tongue. It was then that he saw Enith walking through the tall doors. Joenne and Eyva were not far behind.

Ramsay’s eyes followed Theon's, quickly finding what had caught his attention: A slender woman walked through the crowd, eyes set on him as she approached the table. Her brown eyes slowly drifted from him to Euron, who had taken his place at the far table. She was from Essos, of that much he was certain - though he had no intricate knowledge of the characteristics possessed by the people of the regions in that foreign land. Whether she were from Lys, Dorne, or some other area he did not know, but she was attractive – far too attractive to hail from the Iron Islands. She was exotic; hair rich ebony and skin a warm brown. Her dark eyes traveled over him as her arm slinked around Euron's neck.

Two more women glided over. One was red haired with large inviting hips that Euron's hands found easily. The other looked as if she could be of very few attractive native women, her hair an ashy blonde and skin lightly wind-chafed by the sea breeze. They reminded Ramsay of his short lived nights between Myranda, Tansy, and Violet.

Theon noticed Ramsay's gaze had fallen in the same direction as his.

“Salt wives.”

It was said as a warning; as if he had the agency to take one of them. Ramsay's eyes fell back to Theon, regarding him cooly.

“Does that mean something? The title doesn't seem to pose any boundary for your uncle.”

Theon looked back at Euron, who was laughing among the women. The darker woman was pressing a grape to his mouth while the native girl pressed her lips to his neck. He didn't respond to Ramsay's quip.

Ramsay wondered if he were expected to fodder over Theon as the women were with Euron. Perhaps. The peasants hadn't seemed too offput by Theon declaring a man as his salt wife. He didn't dolt on the other man regardless, and the young Kraken didn't seem bothered. He looked back to Euron and felt something crippling in his chest as he found the man's eyes on him, even with the three women crawling over him. The exotic woman was whispering in his ear, and the red head was straddling his lap, while the Ironborn maiden was leaning against him, watching the crowd.

The older man's stare made him nervous and dread of the night to come set in. He had made an agreement with the Crow's Eye. Surely the man wouldn't come to his chamber or dungeon cell – wherever he would be – and rape him, not when he intended to use him as a means to gaining total rule over the Iron Islands. He thought of how forceful the man's hands had become that night and what he had tried to do after. Ramsay tried to quiet the thought, rationalizing it was just a warning not to disobey or betray him.

Theon sipped at the wine, holding it in his mouth for a moment. It all tasted the same to him. A delicate hand slid over his shoulder and a soft voice accompanied it.

“You were missed, Prince Theon.”

Theon looked up at the girl. She didn't have an overly attractive face, nor were she ugly. She was younger than him. Her breasts were full, on display in a cloth corset bodice.  He imagined her naked beneath him, breasts bouncing up and down as he fucked her. He felt Ramsay's stare on him as he placed his hand on the woman's. She moved around to his side and he hooked his arm around her waist, sweeping her onto his lap. She giggled and he smiled.

Ramsay took another drink from the wine glass as he regarded Yara when she took a seat next to Theon. She looked Ramsay over briefly and leaned next to Theon. She placed her hand on the girl's shoulder as she whispered in her brother's ear. Ramsay saw how her eyes cut to Euron. Theon gave a short nod as Yara turned to the girl.

“Excuse us, love. I'll have the prince back to you before the night is over.”

The girl gave Yara her full attention, taking Yara's hand as she slid off Theon. She gave an informal curtsey and kissed Yara's knuckles.

“Yes, my queen.”

Ramsay raised his brow at the comment. He didn't know why he hadn't questioned Theon's title of prince despite his father being dead. He looked at Euron. It was a trick. He picked up the carafe and poured more wine in the siblings' glasses, nodding to Theon as he took his leave. He wanted to ask to speak with them but questioned if the sister should be involved. Perhaps the proposal was real and she wanted her brother out of the way, perhaps not. Perhaps it was all a test of loyalty. They very well could be discussing his agreement to kill the prince and his lack of informing Theon of the plot. He fought the impulse to spill everything at Theon's feet. He needed to do it at a vulnerable time, when they slept together again, if they did. He took a place by an empty window, looking over the Sunset Sea.

The two siblings watched Ramsay push his way through the audience, the people's faces twisting into nasty sneers as he passed.

“Two days ago a crow arrived. Walder Frey is dead along with the male heirs of his house.”

Theon placed his glass on the table and leaned closer to his sister.

“We should take the Riverlands back for the Iron Islands.”

Yara nodded, proud of her baby brother for catching on so quickly. They may make an Ironborn of him yet.

“We should leave immediately. Enjoy the feast tonight and be ready to leave at first light. Euron will take the seastone chair in my absence.”

“Euron is Lord Reaper. He should be the one to lead the raid.”

“Listen to me, baby brother. The Ironborn do not know you. You need to make a name for yourself as their prince. Should anything happen to me, you'll need their support. Euron will call upon the kingsmoot to take the throne from you. Taking back the Riverlands will gain their respect.”

Theon nodded, careful not to look at his uncle to rouse suspicion for not involving him in their initial conversation. Instead he looked at Ramsay. The Northerner was leaning against the tall embrasure, looking down at the waves crashing against cliff. Yara followed Theon's gaze to the bastard.

“I'm sure Euron can handle Ramsay Snow.”

 _Bolton_. The correction was immediately on his lips. He bit his tongue to keep it back.

“You’re afraid our dear uncle will steal your salt wife? Let him rape the bastard bloody. You bestowed the title to embarrass him, not to have real claim over him.”

Her words were said with far more certainty than Theon had in his own actions. He still broke eye contact when she looked at him.

“I have claimed him. Its been consummated.”

“No.” She tilted her head back, a soft laugh vibrating through her throat when she watched Theon swallow. She looked at Ramsay and back to her little brother.

“You've fucked the bastard? You've fucked Ramsay Bolton?”

She smirked as Theon nodded, staring intently the candle flame on the banquet table before them. Yara squeezed his shoulder lightly. He forced a smirk, not telling her that Euron had participated as well.

“Clear your head, baby brother. We will leave at first light."

She looked up and motioned for the young woman from before. The woman smiled at her and walked over with a friend. Yara returned the smile and placed her hands on the first woman’s back, guiding her forward. The woman straddled Theon again while her friend curtsied. Yara pressed her hand lightly against the friend’s face, brushing her thumb over her cheek.

“He’s all yours. Perhaps the three of you can become better acquainted.”


	7. for Emma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in response to a request from Emma, who I want to thank for her support <3.  
> Shibari inspired. Freudian reference to sadomasochism.
> 
> Warnings: bondage, whipping, sexual assault, gang rape.

Nausea greeted him as he woke to the smell of wet rocks and exposed earth. His head was swimming and he fought back the urge to vomit. He had vomited more in the last few weeks than the rest of his life. Darkness still surrounded him when he opened his eyes. His toes were dragging over damp stone as he was carried naked through the underground dungeon. He could tell from the footsteps around him that there were eight men. The knot from the blind fold pressed tightly into the back of his head.

As he waded further into consciousness, he realized he was not entirely naked. Instead of clothing, he donned a myriad of ropes tied and coursed by knots. He could feel the rope pulling across his skin with each breath he took. A tight leather collar was around his throat. The rope was pulled through a metal loop on the front of the collar and fell vertically down his sternum before winding tightly around his hips and across his back, over his ass.  Another rope was knotted to the one running down his sternum, this one went horizontally over his chest, pressing against his nipples and looped tightly around his back. Another two ropes hung from the horizontal one, knotting into a diamond shape and then wrapping around the base of his cock and looping around his testicles before it split into two more pieces that dipped down between his legs, curving under and lifting his ass before wrapping around his thighs. He felt further demeaned and humiliated. He heard water sloshing on the ground and men goading one another around him. He could still taste the wine in his mouth. _Euron_.

He wasn't angry – though he wished he were. The feeling seemed to be replaced more and more by fear, a once foreign emotion now becoming distinctly familiar. He was thrown into a cell. The steps of heavily clad boot drew near, not further. They were entering the cell with him. The cold feeling came crawling up along the dark walls of his subconscious, tearing into his chest. One of the Ironborn swatted the back of his knees with the flat side of a sword, sending him into a kneeling position.

The men were waiting for something. He could hear calm footsteps down corridor. He swore he would kill the fucking cunt. He would fuck himself bloody on Theon’s cock if it meant he could. He thrashed against the men as two of them pressed their hands hard on his shoulders to keep him in his knees.

“Remove the blindfold.”

He stilled. The voice didn’t belong to Euron.  It was a woman; Theon’s sister. She stood outside of the cell, fingering the rusted bars. She looked right at him. This wasn't what she had intended when she gave the spiked wine to her uncle, but she assumed it was the Drowned God's way of divine punishment.

“I wasn’t very impressed with your begging. I’d like to hear it again – this time with more sincerity.” Yara looked to the men, “You may do whatever you like to him, except kill him or fuck him with anything thicker than a finger. We don’t want him ruined for the prince! And remember, this is only for tonight. If any of you touch Ramsay Bolton after this, I will gut you myself. Understood?”

The men nodded and a few vocalized their understanding of the matter. Ramsay saw one of them sit a bucket down, water spilling from it. Yara nodded to the men, watching them turn their attention to the bastard. Ramsay’s eyes darted over the lot. One grabbed him from behind, wasting little time in beginning the assault. The man was taller than Ramsay, smelling of ale and fish. He pulled him against his chest and began grinding his clothed semi-erection against the small of his back. Another man stepped forward, grabbing Ramsay’s face. This one was close to his height, with close shaven blonde hair and a thin face. He looked him over, mouth opened. Ramsay could see the carnal desire in his eyes. On instinct he backed up, only to press further into the man behind him.

“You like that?”

A gritty, raucous voice ghosted over the back of his ear. The man in front of him pressed his mouth against his with no tact. He thrust his tongue down Ramsay’s throat as his hands groped his pale thighs. Ramsay jerked away, spitting in the man’s face. The man pulled away, smirking as he wiped the spittle from his face. The corner of his mouth twitched and Ramsay expected a blow to his face. It didn’t come.

“On your knees like the bitch you are.”

Ramsay’s face twisted in anger but the men were on him immediately, forcing him to his hands and knees. One of them jerked the blindfold back down over his eyes. He felt the heat of a torch against his ass as the blonde held him open for the rest to view like strung meat. Someone whistled. He heard the man that had been behind him again, his rough voice grating at him.

“Look at the number the prince did on that hole, boys!”

The memory of Theon's face when he had confronted Euron flashed through his mind. It stirred something in his groin and he tried to ignore it. Ramsay jerked as a finger prodded his backside, pressing at the inflamed ring of muscle. He felt leather strips brush down his spine, instantly recognizing it as a cat of nine tails. He shuddered. The whip was pulled back and he braced himself for the blow, the muscles in his arms flexing. The tails brushed over the sutures and gashes on his back. Instead, came down lightly, playfully slapping his ass.

"If you're a good boy, we won't reopen these..." The whip traced over the sutures again, "...or use the sea urchins."

Yara inhaled slowly. She felt herself becoming aroused at the scene, her nipples tingled and something swirled in the pit of her stomach. She pressed her lips together and gripped one of the bars.

“Did you enjoy it when my brother took you like a woman?” Wonder danced in her eyes as she watched the man’s body blush at the question. She knew she wouldn’t receive a verbal answer but the physical response was enough.

“The crew said they couldn’t sleep because of his moaning.” One of the men called out, answering for him.

“Oh, my prince! I love your big cock!” The man who had kissed him mocked in an airy tone and began panting like an imbecile.

Ramsay lunged at him but another man jerked him back, only amusing the blonde.

“Am I upsetting you, bastard? If you’re going to snarl at me like a dog, why don’t you crawl around and bark like one too.”

The man delivered a kick to Ramsay’s ribs. It wasn’t hard enough to knock him over, but it did take his breath away. The men began chanting “Bark!” over and over again. The whip was brought down on his ass, causing his whole body to jerk. It left a stinging kiss across his skin, reddening the pale flesh of his ass. A man jabbed him in side with the end of a torch. Another began tying knots in a scrap of short rope.

“If he won’t bark like one, we’ll make him look like one.”

The man pressed the first knot against Ramsay’s hole, pressing into the swollen orifice. Ramsay dropped his head as the man kept fingering him, pushing the digit and the rope in further. The men began barking and howling to mock him. When the man’s finger was knuckle deep, he began thrusting it in and out in earnest. Ramsay let out a soft grunt, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, thankful for the blindfold. While the man was assaulting him, the other men were all shedding their trousers. Though he couldn't see through the fabric covering his eyes, he turned his head toward the Queen of the Iron Islands.

“I am your brother's – if he finds out what you’re allowing –“

“He won’t find out, because you won’t tell him – least something similar happen again. Crawl.”

The blindfold was pulled back up, allowing him to see. Ramsay swallowed. The ridiculous makeshift tail brushed over the back of his thigh. He lowered his head and began moving his arms and legs in tandem. The man behind him didn't withdraw his finger, letting Ramsay remove himself from it as it tugged at his insides. He crawled over to the bars that separated him from the female Greyjoy.

“Please…”

His sentence immediately trailed off. He didn't know how to address her. Using her name was too familial for someone he had only met once, and on unconventional terms. Her title of Queen felt too forced. Yara bit into her lip as she felt herself becoming damp.  _Please what?_  She didn't ask. She assumed it was plead for mercy but they both knew that there was none to be had. Her eyes fell on Ramsay’s cock, though well endowed, he was limp. She stepped around the gate and through the open doorway. She raised her hand and brought it down hard, leaving a red mark in its wake. He glared at her. She slapped him again and again. His cheek was beginning to show signs of swelling.

“Tell me – you don’t enjoy these men but you seemed to enjoy my brother. Why?”

“Hear that boys? Ramsay Bolton only loves royal cock! Guess ours aren’t fancy enough for ‘em!” The blonde teased when it was apparent the bastard wouldn’t respond. A few of the men snickered in the background. Yara cut her eyes to them for a moment, indicating she wanted their silence.

Something pressed against his cheek. Then another brushed over his other cheek. A third brushed his lips. Three of the men began rubbing their cocks against his face. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see them but their faces were imprinted on the back of his eyelids: they were younger, perhaps two or three years younger than him. Two of them had the same shade of light brown hair and matching brown eyes, likely brothers. The other had shoulder length dirty blonde hair, pale green eyes, and thin lips that stretched along his face. He reminded Ramsay of a snake unhinging its jaw, its mouth stretched wide.

Another man, age ranging somewhere around late thirties, knelt beside him and shoved his finger past Ramsay's teeth. The man had a narrow round face and thinning hair line. He reminded Ramsay of his father and it made his stomach turn. He knew better than to bite. When he refused to suck, the man gave him a soft warning slap. He complied. When it was coated with saliva, he withdrew the digit and without finesse, leaned over and roughly shoved it up Ramsay's ass. He stiffened and bit his lip, stifling a cry. He was determined not to give them the pleasure of hearing his discomfort. The man slid his other hand around Ramsay’s hip and began squeezing and tugging at his bound cock. Each movement of the rope triggered a response in the others, causing them to twist against his skin, including the rope drawn against  his nipples. The sensation perked them, but his cock remained flaccid. The man was trying to make his shame greater by causing him to find pleasure in his rape. It would be easier to let it happen, to let his body respond, but he would despise himself after – perhaps even more so than he had after letting the Krakens take him. He put his mind in another place. He thought of the aging wet nurse with gently sagging breasts who had tended to him as a young child. He thought of his father’s disappointed face.

The blonde held a broken metal bar over a torch flame. The metal began to glow red. His other hand disappeared inside his pants, he was stroking himself.

“Open your mouth. Open it or I'll shove this up your arse.”

Ramsay reluctantly complied, staring at the makeshift branding iron. The man stepped in front of him, pulling his cock from his breeches. Ramsay nearly snorted at the size of it. The less than intimidating length didn't stop Ramsay from jerking away when the man began rubbing it over his bottom lip. The man dropped the iron and it hissed against the wet floor. The man grabbed Ramsay’s head with his free hand, holding it still. Ramsay felt dirty fingernails scraping his scalp. The man smiled at him as his cock  pulled the skin of his bottom lip.

The two brunettes began smacking their cocks against his face and smearing precum on him. They traced the curves of his cheeks, the line of his jaw, and the bridge of his nose. He clenched his teeth together tightly as the blonde’s small cock brushed up and down his lips, the tip brushing his nasal septum.

The man behind him removed his finger. He heard him spit and felt something begin sliding up and down his backside. His eyes widened and he looked behind him at the man rubbing his cock along his ass, causing the makeshift tail to tug at his insides.

“Remember the rule.” Yara warned, eyeing the man. He gave a quick nod in her direction and continued sliding it up and down the crack of Ramsay’s ass. The man who had originally started the assault knelt behind him and began pressing his erection against the other man’s. Two large hands pressed his cheeks apart so the two cocks could slide over Ramsay’s swollen hole. Another stood near the group, jerking off slowly as he watched the scene.

The remaining two men eyed the scene, they had been more enticed by the opportunity to maim the Northerner than get off. Once the snake faced blonde came over the bastard's face, his friends didn’t last much longer. Cum streaked over Ramsay's back. The other brunette grabbed Ramsay's hair, jerking him up, shooting his seed over Ramsay's chest and neck. Ramsay felt himself begin to shake.

As the three younger men stepped back, spent, the two who had been waiting in the shadows stepped forward. One brandished a knife while the other slugged Ramsay in the chest with a rusted pipe, doubling him over.

***

Theon jerked his shirt over his head, knees pressing into the soft bed. A breeze billowed the long white curtains adorning arched windows on the far side of the room. The waves could be heard crashing miles below. He looked down at the young woman from the feast. She was smiling up at him, her gaze warm and inviting. He pressed his lips against hers. The other woman was entering the room with the wine she had just fetched from the feast.

“Should we invite your salt wife to join?”

The woman beneath him asked when he broke the kiss. The words were said innocently but he could see the proclivity behind her eyes. He smirked at her and dismissed the statement, leaning down to kiss her chest.

“It would even the odds, don't you think?” The second girl giggled as she mounted the bed behind him. She ran her hand over Theon's shoulders. “Do you think he knows the Northerner they took to the dungeon?”

“What Northerner? Did you hear this from Euron?” Theon paused, looking over his shoulder at her.

“I don’t know, my Prince. When I went back to the dining hall, the Lord Reaper was dismissing himself.” She didn’t include the comment he made about the prince’s stamina when he grabbed her ass, “Shortly after he left, the queen made an announcement that a Northerner had been caught at Lordsport. She asked several of the men from the lower houses to join her in the dungeons.”

“Did Euron leave with Ramsay?”

He watched the woman cock her head, recollecting the attendants in the hall. She couldn't see the dark haired bastard in her memory. She traced the tops of Theon's shoulders with her fingertips.

“I didn't see him.”

Theon fastened his pants and grabbed his night shirt as he stepped off the bed. He pulled it over his head as he made his way to the chamber door.

“Stay here.”

He hurried down the corridor to Euron's chamber. He came to the door just before the tower's exit and began pounding his fist against it. He could hear women moaning inside. The door slowly creaked open as Joenne, the redhead from before, greeted him. She was bare breasted and her nipples were hard, a necklace of thin chains dangling from her neck and looping under her breasts. Another chain encircled her hips and delved down between her legs, intended to rub her clit. Theon stared at her for a moment, reminding him of Ros. He tore his eyes away, looking past her. Euron was lying propped up on the bed, shirt disregarded on the floor along with a variety of women's clothing. His leather pants were still on. The three salt wives from before were in the room, more were lying on the bed with him along with a few common girls. He stared at him for a moment. He hadn't expected him to be there.

“Where is Ramsay?”

“Not here.” Euron motioned around the room. It was the truth. There were nine women and a blonde eunuch, but no Bastard of Bolton. “Yara asked the guards to take him to the his chamber in the Bloody Tower as you arranged.”

“Did you hear of a Northerner being caught at Lordsport?”

Euron eyed him suspiciously before giving a slight turn of his head to indicate he hadn't. Anger flared in Theon’s head as his vision went red. His uncle disrespecting his wishes was expected but when it came to Yara, he felt utterly betrayed. He nodded at Euron, quickly dismissing himself as he closed the heavy chamber door behind himself. He crossed the three exterior rope bridges, through each tower in rapid succession to the Gatehouse. He thought of his father falling to the angry sea below. He wondered how many children had fallen. He made a mental note to request the old bridges be replaced with enclosed stone bridges.

When he arrived at the entrance to the dungeon, the two guards stationed reluctantly moved aside. As he walked down the winding steps, he could hear men shouting obscenities  and barking like dogs. He came upon the scene, finding Yara only a few feet away from him. He looked at Ramsay who was now on his knees with cum dripping down his back and chest, eyes clenched shut and face tight in disdain. Theon could see him shaking. His body was adorned with red marks from fists and boots, his cheek was bruised. The men all had their backs to him as they jerked off over the bastard.

Yara saw the light flickering through the passage and turned to see her brother.

“What are you doing?”

“Allow me my revenge, Theon. Those men he killed were good men. Those you allowed him to kill at Moat Caitlin were good men. They deserve vengeance – this isn't half of what they deserve.”

Theon swallowed. His sister was everything he wasn't – strong, determined, brave; but in that moment her brown eyes were pleading with him. He watched the scene, clenching his fists as he took in a long breath. He owed this to his sister. She had defied their father to save him and he had disappointed her. If he had gone with her instead of cowering like a beaten dog, the Ironborn stationed at Moat Caitlin would not have been tricked into opening the gates to the Boltons.

One of the men walked toward Ramsay. He grabbed his face and pressed the engorged head of his cock against his swollen lips. When he used his hand to pry his lips open, Ramsay lunged at him, knocking him to the floor. The men began shouting, a few bringing the torches down on him. He yelped as the hot metal on one scorched his side. One of the men began flogging him with a whip.

“Hold him down!”

The men pressed him into the cold damp floor, the jagged stone scraping at his wounded back. He tried not to fight them, not wanting to press the mutilated skin against the stone more than necessary. The man who Ramsay had tackled squatted over him, his elbow rising in the air before he brought his fist down on the bastard's cheek once, twice, three times. Theon's fingers flinched at his sides. The assailant rounded behind Ramsay, grabbing his hips and flipping him over. The rough stone grated at his flaccid cock, making him cry out as it irritated the mark that remained from the jellyfish. The men spread him open, groping at his ass, giving everyone full view. The man began working a rhythm with his hand, pressing the head against the exposed orifice as Ramsay thrashed about on the floor. He twisted the rope tail around his fingers, slowly pulling out one of the knots. Ramsay pressed his forehead to the uneven floor, trying not to cry out as he felt it leave him. There were two more inside him. A man who had been tugging at himself to the side stepped forward as he began to come; Hot white jets streaked over the curve of his ass and along his back.

Theon clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. He watched as the man with short blonde hair grabbed Ramsay's ass and pulled him toward him, slowly jerking himself off as he rubbed the tip against the swollen orifice. Jealousy began snaking its way through his head. He watched the man slip his hand around Ramsay's side as he began pulling at his flaccid cock. Theon's eyes lingered for a moment. Ramsay had been hard when he took him on the ship. He had written it off as Ramsay’s desire for violent inclinations, but apparently that hadn't been it. Theon stepped forward. The blonde man pulled Ramsay closer, lining himself up. Yara commanded the man to stop. He heard Ramsay whimper as the man began to lean into him.

Before he could register moving into the cell, he was bringing the torch down on the man, stunning him. The barking and cheering stopped. The man released Ramsay's hips and stumbled to the side. Theon didn't stop, swinging the torch upward and catching the man's jaw; Blood and teeth flew through the air. The man may not have deserved to die but he was on the receiving end of all the anger and pain that had accumulated over the years. Theon thought of how he had betrayed Robb, of his own stupidity and weaknesses, of Robb's death, of the torture he'd endured, of Sansa, of the only family he'd known. No one stopped him. Blood splattered the floor and dripped from the torch. 

He looked at Ramsay who was staring at the man's bloody pulp of a face. Ramsay's mouth was partially opened in surprise, still stunned by what had just occurred. Theon's eyes drifted down and he saw the display had aroused the bastard, his cock stiffening against his thigh. His chest was heaving and blood was coursing through his body, pounding in his veins. The sound of his own heartbeat drummed a beat in his head. He dropped the bloodied torch. It had been long extinguished from the gusts of air produced with each swing. Ramsay looked up at him. Several men rushed around them, fleeing the scene as the others quickly tucked themselves inside their pants.

Theon saw the man swallow, aroused and afraid. An animalistic urgency took over. Theon dropped to the cold stones and grabbed Ramsay’s thighs. He guided his legs around him. 

“I won’t let them have you. You’re mine. Say it.”

He brushed his thumb over Ramsay’s lips. He still smelt of the men’s cum.

“I'm yours. Until I'm rotting in the ground.”

Theon smirked as he removed himself from his pants, letting them gather around his mid-thighs. His hand gripped the rope that was pressed inside Ramsay, watching in awe as the man's hole opened around the knots as he pulled. A redness spread over Ramsay's face as he realized how openly displayed and vulnerable he was. Theon dropped the rope tail to the floor and shifted his hips, retrieving a small bottle of oil from his pocket. He popped the small cork and quickly slicked his fingers in a generous amount of it. He leaned over Ramsay as he slicked his entrance, pressing his lips to his.

Ramsay kissed him back, aroused by the anger in the Kraken’s eyes and the sharp scent of blood on the wet stone. The rope tightened around his chest, rubbing at his erect nipples and pulling at the ropes encircling his cock, lifting it and slowly tightening around it.

Yara’s eyes widened when she heard Ramsay moan while Theon worked him open with his fingers. A smile briefly tugged at her mouth; she was proud of her little brother. It faded quickly as her mind turned over story after story while conspiring an explanation to give the man’s father as to why their house no longer had a male heir. She watched her brother guide himself inside Ramsay, hearing the bastard sharply hiss in satisfaction.

Ramsay's head fell back against the stone as Theon took him. The initial contact, the burn, the pressure, the stretching, the flushing skin, the quickening heart beat, was what he ached for. His cock was heavy against his stomach. His back drug against the ground with each thrust but he concentrated on the pleasurable pain Theon was causing between his legs.  He pulled his knees to his chest, allowing him deeper.

Theon bit at Ramsay's swollen lips, watching his eyes and mouth widen as the pain sent little pulses of pleasure through his brain. The two had always melded into the same thing for him. Theon pressed his lips to the crook of the man's neck, sucking and biting as he gave him every inch of himself. He moaned as Ramsay tightened around him. He wasn't well versed in sodomy but he gathered there was a place inside a man, not unlike a woman, and he had found Ramsay's. That or the bastard was just riding out the pain of his cock stretching and filling him. He could feel Ramsay's manhood throbbing against his stomach, precum smearing against him. Theon moaned. If Ramsay came again with only anal stimulation, he would come in response. The thought alone nearly sent him over.

“Touch yourself. Stroke your cock.”

Theon watched Ramsay comply without hesitation. He buried his face in Ramsay's shoulder. He felt bigger, his chest expanding with confidence. Making demands of the man sent a pulse through his cock. The power was intoxicating. Ramsay's knuckles brushed against the dark hair under his naval. Theon shuddered. He was close. He pressed his lips against Ramsay’s neck as he moved his hips in slow, small circles.

“Come for me.”

Ramsay was ashamed of what the simple demands did to him. He closed his eyes as Theon ran his hand up his stomach and to his chest. The reversal of their positions intrigued and aroused him, no longer enraging him. It was a relief of sorts. In every sadist there was a masochist.  He had never been a devout believer in the Old Gods, the Seven, or any other Gods. He imagined this subjugation was how complete devotion felt. In this lust for the young kraken, he would lay himself bare before his weirwood trees, he would worship him in his sept, he would drown himself in the sea.

The dark haired man cried out at the fullness and moaned in relief when Theon began to retreat. Theon began the long stoke, pulling out partially, the thick head of his cock still just past Ramsay’s entrance before delving back in. With each deep thrust, his pace quickened. He rolled his hips, hitting Ramsay’s prostate again. He felt Ramsay quiver beneath him as a noise erupted from the bastard’s throat, high pitched and feral. Theon would worship the sound if he could. He thrust deeper, drawing it out again. Ramsay tightened around him as he came, streaking his own seed up his chest and across his parted lips. Theon shuddered from the sight, his body stiffening as he spent his load inside the bastard.

He stood without grace, his legs shaking. Some of the men still lingered in the cell, watching the show. They stared at him in a mixture of disgust and awe.

“Leave or I’ll kill you too.” As the men rushed by, he stopped one of them, “Grab a cloak from a chambermaid and bring it back. Quickly.”

The man didn’t protest, nodding before rushing away. The others hustled by as he pulled a small dagger from his belt and cut the ropes binding Ramsay. He extended his arm to the man. Ramsay drew in a deep breath, steeling his eyes with Theon’s. He reached up, hand grasping Theon’s forearm as he pulled himself up. He placed Ramsay’s arm over his shoulder and they ambled by Yara without a word. As they breached the third flight of stairs leading up from the dungeon, the man met them with a dark fur cloak. Theon took it from the man and draped it over Ramsay’s naked form. He drew in a deep breath, pacing himself for the walk back to The Sea Tower.


	8. Chapter 8

Ramsay leaned against the stone archway of the gatehouse as the horses were readied in the courtyard. Theon was assisting Yara in mounting her steed. The young Kraken seemed more confident after their entanglement last night. Euron was in the courtyard as well, placing an additional satchel on Theon’s horse. Ramsay held his breat. He didn't think he could stomach any more time at sea. His eyes scanned the area, not finding a third horse. Of course they didn’t trust him to command his own steed but it also meant Euron wouldn’t be taking part in the voyage, and for that he was thankful. He would likely ride with Theon. He locked eyes with the other man as he turned away from his sister.

Dawn was on the horizon and he wished to still be in his comfortable prison. He had been afforded a small chamber within the Bloody Keep. The tower was well furnished and lit, intended for guests, not prisoners. Still, there were at least four guards stationed outside his door at all hours. The bed had been adequate but he had found himself wondering how much more comfortable the prince’s bed was, likely covered in decadent furs and luxurious sheets.  He hadn’t inquired how the tower received its name, but the maester had informed him while tending his wounds. The man had a tendency to ramble, regardless if Ramsay expressed interest or not. The man mentioned the concept of irony when speaking of the thousand year old murder of the River King’s sons in the very tower and how the Greyjoy’s had sent pieces of the boys to their father.

Euron finished loading the horse and walked toward his nephew. He patted the boy’s shoulder as he nodded toward Lordsport, “The men are aboard the ship and will set sail once you and Yara have boarded. You'll dock in Seagard. The Twins will be a day and a half ride north of the port.”

Theon gave a short nod and turned his attention back to Ramsay. The bastard was leaning against the stonework, arms crossed and an annoyed scowl on his face. He had always been rather easy to read when he wasn’t playing some kind of mind game with him. He was exhausted and cross that he had been called upon at such an early hour. Theon began walking toward the other man. Ramsay had always been impulsive and the trait carried to his tongue. He held his breath for a moment, bracing himself for Ramsay’s reaction. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to reprimand him in the courtyard when he gave him the news.

“Euron will remain here. I think it will be in your best interest to not anger him.”

The look of annoyance vanished from Ramsay’s face as the words made their way to his ears. Theon pressed his lips together as he watched Ramsay's face change, brows drawing together ever so slightly in confusion and what could be interpreted as distress.

“I’m not to accompany you?”

“Don't sound so distraught.”

Ramsay ignored the quip and glanced over at the older Kraken. Theon followed his gaze but said nothing. He wasn’t comfortable leaving the man with his uncle but it had to be done. Yara had tried reassuring him that anything that may happen would make Ramsay appreciate him more, but the words were of no comfort, “Salt wives are intended for long voyages at sea. We’re taking The Twins. I'll return in a month. Perhaps less.”

Theon watched as the statement hit Ramsay, his mouth slightly agape as Theon spoke. The news was difficult for the darker haired man to digest. He could have sworn there was concern hidden in his voice when he began to speak.

“The Twins? You’re raiding the Frey’s? Without your uncle – “

“Hurry and bid farewell to your blushing bride, baby brother! We need to leave!” Yara called from across the courtyard.

Ramsay's eyes threw daggers at the woman. Questions were running through his head. House Frey was a large house. He feared for Theon’s safety, not out of some forlorn romantic notion, but because any hope of escape rested on weaving his way back into the man's psyche. He feared for Theon's safety because he feared for his own should he be left to Euron's whims. Yara smirked at him as she waited for her brother to mount his steed. Ramsay looked back at Theon who gave him a short nod and leaned forward.

“Tread carefully with my uncle. I'd like to see you alive and well when I return.”

Before Ramsay could protest, Theon pressed his hand against his cheek. It was meant as a sign of affection and he was thankful it were not a kiss. He didn’t need further degradation in front of the guards. He didn't miss the pointed glare that Theon cast at his uncle or the smile Euron returned to the prince. Theon’s eyes fell back on Ramsay for a brief moment before he turned then and made his way to his horse. Euron handed him the reigns, speaking the words.

“What is dead may never die.”

Yara and Theon repeated them, following the traditional custom. Ramsay fought the urge not to roll his eyes; He had always found the refrain asinine. Yara gave a soft kick to her horse’s side as she pulled the reign, turning the beast toward the gate.  Theon followed her lead, the horses paced together, setting in a slow gallop through the gate. Euron strode up the steps to the gatehouse and stood beside Ramsay. He watched briefly as his niece and nephew breached the gate. When they were outside of the gatehouse wall, a guard began turning the wheel to lower the iron gate. Euron smiled at him as he turned on his heel, knocking into Ramsay with his shoulder.

“The day awaits!”

Ramsay stood still for a moment, his eyes trailing past the departing siblings. There was only one path to Lordsport from the Gatehouse unless one were to try and take their chances among the narrow strip of jagged rocks which acted as a retaining wall along the edge of the cliffs. There were only two guards manning the gate. He debated running through it and taking his chance along the rocks. He reasoned it may be the preferable choice compared to the coming month with the Lord Reaper of Pyke. It was a fleeting idea. If he did manage to make it to the port before being rode down, he had even less of a chance in securing a vessel.

He turned back to the bridge that connected The Gatehouse to The Great Keep. He took in a deep breath, holding it as he placed his foot on the wooden bridge. White fog swirled below the wooden planks. He could see breaking waves through the mist. He looked up and found Euron becoming smaller in the distance, nearly half way across the long bridge. He set his jaw and pressed forward, following the older man to the dining hall, unsure what awaited him.

The dining hall was nestled in The Great Keep, just before the throne room. Each part of Pyke was kept on a separate spire – The Gatehouse, The Great Keep, The Bloody Keep, The Kitchen Keep, The Sea Tower – so many fucking keeps. Each tower rested on its own tall spire, connected to the next by a bridge. The Gatehouse was just as its name suggested. The Great Keep housed the main dining hall, the throne room, and chambers for the guards. The Bloody Keep was reserved for visitors. The Kitchen Keep housed the kitchen as the name suggested as well as chambers for the kitchen staff, servants, chamber maids, and the maester. The chambers of the Greyjoy family and the salt wives made up The Sea Tower, which stood on the outer most rock spire, surrounded by the ocean.

Once the pair arrived in the dining hall of The Great Keep, they came upon a table that had already been dressed by servants. An arrangement of fruit and bread was set out on the table. Ramsay watched as Euron grabbed an apple and dropped into a chair. He bit into it, waving his hand over the food before motioning to the pitcher of water on the far side of the table.

“Well go on, _serve me_.”

Euron watched Ramsay clench his jaw and step forward. He beamed at the other man as he put his feet up on the table, crossing his ankles. He was already running through a list of chores for the other man. He could see the delightful mixture of hatred and fear in the man’s icy blue eyes. It comforted him. The day he no longer garnered that look from others would be the day he had grown too old.

Ramsay returned with the water and poured it into the glass that had been waiting at Euron's place setting. The table was also set for Theon and Yara, the servants not aware of their early departure. A hard smack burnt his backside, startling him. Water splashed from the pitcher and hit the table, dripping from the edge on onto the stone near Euron's feet. He looked at the man who raised his brows, glancing at the cleaning station on the far side of the room and back down at the floor. Ramsay gritted his teeth but said nothing. He retrieved a cleaning cloth from the station and returned to wipe up the water from the table and then the floor, Euron's eyes on his backside the entire time. He felt like a damned scullery maid. 

“Didn't you recently marry?” Euron cocked his head as he glanced at Ramsay, his words laced with apathy. He took another bite of the apple, chewing loudly as the bastard looked at him. Ramsay was curious as to where the conversation would lead, giving a short nod.

“Perhaps we can invite your wife here. I'm sure she misses you.”

Ramsay chuckled under his breath at the statement as he stepped back from the table. He could feel the guards eying him as their postures collectively straightened, ready to move if needed. They expected their Lord Reaper to say something disrespectful of Sansa Stark and for her husband to lash out in retaliation.

“What? You don't think so? Well, perhaps I'll take her for a salt wife. I wonder if she'll moan on my cock as much as you did.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes as he gripped the cloth tighter in his fist. He felt his skin warm as a tremor of anger raked through him. He didn't care about Sansa’s wellbeing but he did view her as his property. The blatant disrespect for something that belonged to him infuriated him. He clenched his jaw, speaking through his teeth as if they would hold back the anger in his words and all the profanities he wanted to yell.

“Sansa Stark is too high to be a salt wife.”

“Ah, but you're not! I suppose she married below her means.”  Euron’s grin widened as he watched Ramsay’s mouth become a tight line, “Don't worry, little rabbit. I have greater plans than taking your little wife or Winterfell.”

Euron bit into the apple again, his face the reflection of condescension incarnate. He lazily looked over at the guards, waving them away, “Leave us."

Euron’s gaze shifted back to Ramsay as the guards exited the room. He nodded at the seat across from him, indicating for the bastard to sit.

"That scene between you and my nephew this morning was sweet – it really warmed my heart. Have you thought of how you're going to kill him? That is, if that little shit stain makes it back from the Riverlands?"

"What if he doesn't?" The question was drawn out as Ramsay hadn’t thought of anything that could feebly pass as an appropriate response.

Euron shifted in his seat. He finished the apple as he thought it over. He had only just been presented with Yara's proposal to raid the Riverlands that morning. She brought up the history lessons from her childhood, that the Riverlands had once belonged to House Greyjoy. To feign concern, he suggested taking only the Twins at the present time. It was a desired location and strategically placed, but she had her eye on Riverrun. Euron reminded his niece it had recently been taken by the Lannisters and until they built their fleet, it would be foolish to provoke the ruling House. She was too impulsive, much like the man before him.

"I don't think that will change much as far as you're concerned. I'll barter your release with your father and if we can't come to terms, I'll take you as my salt wife. You should be happy – though the scenery would remain the same, it would be an improvement for you. A bastard could only dream of making it so high! I could take you around the world and fuck you on every continent. So tell me, what is your plan?"

Ramsay stared at the man for a moment, ignoring the chide at his status in life. He hadn't thought of killing Theon because he didn’t intend to do it. Euron was competition. Theon wasn’t. He must have taken too long to respond because Euron sighed and leaned back in the chair.

“If your father agrees to terms for your release, I will send a raven to you once you have arrived in Winterfell. The letter will advise Theon will be arriving in Winterfell to ensure certain agreements are kept. You can arrange for bandits to kill him and his men on the road. There – that wasn’t so difficult was it? You can’t keep procrastinating and doing things on impulse at the last minute, little beast. You need to plan further ahead or else your rushed decisions will get you killed. If Lord Bolton isn't agreeable, we'll discuss another plan."

“What of your niece? And don’t you still have a brother alive somewhere?” Ramsay ignored the man’s advice. Who was the cunt to advise him when he hadn’t even considering those two in his own plan? Euron responded with a short snicker. He pressed the glass of water to his lips and sat it back on the table.

“My niece has heart. She’s determined to expand the territory of the Iron Islands. She won’t last long. If it would not have been suspicious, I would have encouraged her poorly thought plan to sack Riverrun. I’m sure there will be just as poorly conceived plans in the future.”

Euron traced the rim of his glass with his finger. Ramsay doubted Euron’s assessment of Yara; the man underestimated his niece. The bitch was resourceful. She had nearly invaded the Dreadfort, almost taking Reek from him. All with a very small crew of men.

“My dear younger brother is an idiot and soft. He never cared for my treatment of my crew or the women we’d find on raids. Last I heard, he took up arms with some Red Priest of R’hllor. The Ironborn haven’t taken well to this news – they feel he has betrayed the Drowned God. They prefer even Theon over Victarion. He was the one who left that garrison of Ironborn you slaughtered at Moat Caitlin – the fort that Theon helped you sack. I’m sure if he returns to the Iron Islands to find me pardoned from exile, Theon reinstated as a prince, and you lounging about, he will not be happy.” Euron took another drink and opened his arms to ther dark haired man, “Tell me, little rabbit. Who would you prefer protect you from my large brutish brother, me or little Theon?"

“I don’t need your protection.”

Euron smiled at him as he popped a grape in his mouth. He motioned for Ramsay to serve him the bread on the far side of the table. Ramsay stood, the chair scraping against the floor. He walked along the table, picking up the bread knife that laid beside the small loaf. He watched the dull knife slide through the crust as he cut into it. He wished he were cutting into the man instead. He grabbed a small serving plate, placing the piece of bread on it before taking it to Euron. He looked at the other man. The man’s smile never seemed to completely vanish, always lurking in the corners of his mouth. Ramsay sat the plate in front of the Lord Reaper. Euron picked up the slice of bread and bit into it. He chewed as he spoke. Ramsay lowered his eyes at the man. Euron didn’t lack manners, he lacked respect for his present company, “Let’s see about that, shall we?”

The Crow's Eyes stood from the chair and motioned for Ramsay to follow him. The bastard eyed the food reluctantly, his stomach twisting. He grabbed the remaining hulk of bread and followed behind Euron, tearing into it as he went. He felt relief when the man said nothing of it.

He was led back across the bridge that spanned between the dining hall and the Gate House. Once they arrived inside the gatehouse they followed a short corridor to the left of the hall’s center. The door led to a small exterior courtyard. The archery area was lower than the rest of the grounds, descending several feet with a raised platform at the bottom. The depressed walls were made of compact earth but a stone barricade rose above the ground to block any stray arrows. The Crow’s Eye led him to the small armory that was cluttered with weaponry and shields.  Euron picked up a bow and pressed it to Ramsay's chest.

“I've heard you’re an excellent marksman. How about this – if you can hit three targets with four arrows, you can roam the grounds today and enjoy each meal in my pleasant company.”

“If I lose?”

“Then you'll play the role of servant and be my bedwarmer for the night - and throughout the day if it pleases me. Either way, you'll enjoy my company.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes. He was beginning to see the older Kraken as less of a terror and more of an arrogant prick.

“There is a third option. You can choose not to participate. I can give you a tour of the Iron Islands and please the people by whipping you through the streets. Little Theon may not like the thought of other men fucking you but it gets me hard.” Euron pressed himself against Ramsay's hip, letting him feel the truth of the statement. Ramsay swallowed, glaring at the Lord Reaper as he took the bow that was pressed into his chest.

The Crow’s Eye stepped away and walked toward the raised platform. Ramsay followed suit and as they reached a short set of stairs descending into the grounds, he thought of hooking the bow over the Kraken’s head and strangling him with the bow string. But he faced the same problem – how would he get off the island after, even if he managed to escape the guards? The four on the ground would be easily dispatched but that would still leave the guards in the battlements, armed with bows and arrows.

The archery area consisted of a twenty by twenty raised platform of wooden boards. Ramsay stepped up on the surface. He looked over at Euron for a moment, finding the man leaning against a wooden podium. He looked back at the target fifty feet from the edge of the platform. He drew in a deep breath, steadying his aim. The second before he released the bow string, the board under his right foot shifted, sending the arrow flying over the target and into a stone barricade. Laughter filled the air.

He looked down, seeing a wheel mechanism through the crack of the raised board. It was built to replicate the shifting movement of a ship’s deck. Rage burned in his eyes as he looked at the Crow’s Eye.

“Don’t miss.” Euron taunted in a sing song voice.

Ramsay took in a deep breath, pulling the bow string taunt again. He lined the arrow with the bullseye, moving it off center by a few centimeters to compensate for the light breeze. The moment to release the arrow came but he held fast and the boards shifted. He realigned his aim with his uneven footing and released the arrow and the breath. The arrow vibrated as it pierced the bullseye. He swallowed. The next wouldn’t be as easy. But it wasn’t a ship rocking on unpredictable waves, it was a mechanism controlled by a man. Men were predictable.

He held tight to the arrow as he placed it against the string, anticipating Euron’s next move. He immediately shifted the boards as expected. The arrow didn’t drop from his grasp. He pulled the string back again, aiming and quickly releasing before the boards could be activated again. He wasn’t as sure of this one, feeling pressure in his chest as the arrowhead glided toward its target. His chest deflated in a sigh of relief as the second bullseye was hit.

He tilted his head, cracking his neck. Euron was smiling at him like a proud father. He ignored it, angling his body with the third target. The boards shifted before he even lifted the bow. Euron was trying to manipulate the timing. He held the bow out, gripping it tightly. He drew the third arrow. The boards lifted again. He drew back the arrow and kept it steady, readying his knees to keep them from buckling. As predicted the shifted again. He released the arrow. He hadn’t had time to align it and missed the bullseye, but still hit the target.

Euron clapped as he walked toward Ramsay, taking the bow and passing it to one of the guards. The man smiled at Ramsay with more pride than his father ever had.


	9. Chapter 9

Theon watched the hull of the ship softly brush against the dock. As soon as it made contact, Yara stepped off, helping the dock hands with the ropes. He watched the crew rushed by, eager to make their way to the Twins and take their fill in women and killing. Several of the men looked toward him for a moment, expecting him to address the Ironborn. He recognized several of them from the crew that had sailed to capture Ramsay. His sister made her way to the head of the group, widening her stance in front of them to appear larger and more authoritative, taking up space as a man normally would.

“We will head north toward The Twins. We should cover twenty miles by nightfall. We’ll setup camp for the night and then storm The Twins in the early morning.”

The men cheered and Yara smiled at them, her eyes briefly lingering over her baby brother who was still standing on the loading planks of the vessel; physically wavering between land and sea as he did on so many other subjects within his mind. She allowed the men to pass, marching forward, as she lingered behind. She walked along the deck, looking at her brother. Theon looked past her and past the crew, past the line of visibility and in the direction of The Twins. Before she could ask what was wrong, something they were both growing tired of her asking in the days since his initial return to Pyke, he began to speak.

“Robb was killed at The Twins. Robb, his unborn child, his wife, Catelyn Stark. All of them. And now we’re going there to kill and rape in the same halls he was murdered in.”

Yara watched her brother's eyes become distant. His sight was fixed on the planks of the deck but she knew he was drifting away from her, “Yes, brother. And now your family is going to take back The Twins that originally belonged to the Ironborn.”

“They were my family for most of my life.”

“They were your captors. Do not dwell on these sentiments. I need you with me when we begin the raid.” Yara stepped forward, firmly clasping his narrow shoulder.

***

A soft noise pulled Ramsay from the comfortable oblivion of dreamless sleep and into the darkness of his small chamber. Someone was knocking lightly at the door. It was familiar; the timid knock of a frightened chambermaid. All he had wanted was to sleep, exhausted from the night before. The sun was high in the sky, signally the day was half past. He opened the door to one of Euron’s salt wives. It was the native one, her ashen blonde hair obscuring her face. His eyes fell over her, lingering over her breasts, full and pressed against the bodice of her dress. She grimaced under his gaze, bringing a smile to his face. His eyes traveled further down.  She had brought him a tray of food.

“Hello. My name is Eyva.”

He ignored the pleasantry and took the tray from her, nearly jerking it out of her grasp. He could smell the roasted pork and sweetmeats under the metal dome. _Finally something other than fish_. He tossed the cover to the floor and took the tray to the small table in his chamber. From the ravenous way he advanced on the food, grabbing the fork and stabbing at the food, he appeared more of a starving stable boy than a lordling. He could feel her eyes on him.

“Euron wasn’t pleased that you didn’t dine with him in the hall.”

He didn’t care. He turned his attention back to the food, stabbing at a sugared plum. He ate several of them before eying her from his peripherals, the wonderment at her lingering presence obvious on his face. Perhaps she wanted to share a bed with someone who didn’t stink of the sea. He was too tired to entertain the thought for long. The thought of the Kraken finding out if he did bed the whore caused his stomach to knot itself.

“He can be kind if you respect him.”

“You mean fawn over him? Is that how you found your way here?” Ramsay eyed her, taking the water from the tray. He had meant it as an insult to usher her exit. Instead she smirked, pushing a lock of hair over her ear.

“Are you still a lord? Without Winterfell?”

“My father is a lord. I am his naturalized son.” He looked at her as if she were the most ignorant creature he had lain eyes on.

“So, you’re…a lordling? I’ve heard that term before.”

“It’s a term for children of a lord. I’m not a child.” He was growing annoyed with her and he could tell she sensed it. He felt something warm on his hand. He looked at her hand and felt like stabbing it with the fork. He just wanted to be left in peace with his dinner.

“No, obviously not. But now that the Starks have taken back Winterfell, is your father still a lord?”

The statement caught his attention. He abandoned the meal in front of him and looked over at the young woman. She was swayed in the door way. Her hands were behind her back, fingertips tracing the groves in the wooden door, “Where did you hear this?”

“The maester informed Euron of the raven this morning.”

“Was there mention of what happened to my father?”

“No, not that was discussed in front of the wives.” Eyva's fingers paused on the door. The Northner was no longer regarding her as some worthless chambermaid.

Ramsay swallowed the food, trying to settle his nerves, “My father was lord of the Dreadfort before he was bestowed Winterfell by the Lannisters.”

“I’m not very familiar with titles or the major Houses. I’m only a fisherman's daughter. I heard tales of Victarion and Euron as a little girl. I dreamt of marrying the great Euron Greyjoy. When he returned to Pyke, I begged the Septa to afford me a job in the kitchens or among the chamber maids, hoping to catch his eye. I did.”

She looked away from him quickly. It wasn't a mere play for sympathy, it was the truth. It brought tears to her eyes to recall her own naivety toward any future she could secure for herself. Ramsay rolled his eyes as he shoveled pork into his mouth. He didn't care. Whatever her angle was, he wasn’t interested.

“I will gain you safe passage to the docks if you agree to help me. My brother is a ship hand. We have family near Barrowton. Help us there and then you can be on your way.”

That caught his attention again. She gestured to her stomach as if saving the life of a pregnant woman would persuade him. Her voice was desperate and her eyes frantic under the blonde tresses that fell on her face. She reminded him of Sansa – the desperation and fear on her face when she'd beg him to leave her alone. She had to know the risk she was taking, not only in trying to escape but in asking Ramsay Bolton to help her. Even a simple fisherman’s daughter would have heard of his deeds against her prince if not of his reputation. She had to be leery that whatever he agreed to, he may have no  real intentions to help her. It wouldn't be past him to rape and kill her once they reached the Riverlands. If she had any knowledge of this possibility, she didn’t let on.  He tapped the end of the fork against the table. He knew he should be eager to take the woman up on the offer but something was pulling at him, telling him not to – he wouldn’t want to face the older Greyjoy if they were caught. He were fearful of the man to the extent that was even too afraid to pursue escape. It made him grind his teeth.

“And you know of some secret passage that will allow us to leave unnoticed?”

“There have been whispers of a rebellion by House Mudd with the coming storm. They believe Euron left on the raid. They won't succeed but we can leave during the attack tonight. Euron and the guards will be preoccupied. You should join us in the dining hall this evening. Dark clouds are on the horizon.”

Ramsay gave her a short nod. Eyva turned, her blonde hair shifting in the midday light as she pulled the chamber door shut.

***

Ramsay weighed the proposal heavily as the day waned on. Euron had spent most of the afternoon shifting between the training grounds and the battlements of the four towers. Ramsay had spent most of the day in the archery pit. The rest of it was spent roaming between the three common towers freely. He found himself irritated with the lack of supervision afforded to him. The man already saw him as complacent – not daring escape. It had taken months before he had trusted Reek to have free roam of the Dreadfort. He tightened his grip on the bow as he stared at the man. He hoped the man would not be present at dinner – burdened by news of the smaller house’s dissent.

The sun was drawing low in the sky and candlelight could be seen in the towers. Heavy storm clouds were rolling in, blocking out the remaining sunlight. He made his way across the bridges to the dining hall. Upon opening the doors, Ramsay found his hopes shattered in the rocks like the waves at the base of the tower. Euron and his salt wives were already seated at the head table, dinner laid out before them. The redhead was to the left of the Kraken, the exotic woman on his right, and Eyva were beside her. He glanced at the blonde and she returned a short smile. It had to be a trick. If it had been him, he’d have sent Myranda to do something similar.

A clap of thunder filled the room, warning of the clouds impending rupture. In cue, the storm clouds broke, unleashing torrents of rain. The sound of heavy rainfall filled the dining hall, splashing the floors near the large windows.

“Ah, there you are! You've decided to grace us with your presence!” Euron tilted his wine glass toward an empty seat, indicating for Ramsay to take a seat beside the redheaded salt wife.

Ramsay rounded the table and pulled out the chair, looking at the plate that awaited him. It were already dressed with some sort of headless smoked fish, stewed yams, and small roasted potatoes. Euron gestured to the women as he introduced them, beginning with the redhead beside Ramsay, “This is Joenne, Enith, and Eyva. As you can tell, I have a penchant for beautiful women.”

Joenne watched Ramsay’s movements, waiting for him to speak. When he didn't, she did, “We received word that the Queen and the Prince docked at Seagard safely.”

Ramsay raised his brows at the statement, giving no other response as he poked a chunk of fish into his mouth. He didn't know what response she expected. Her hand brushed over his idle one that rested on the table.

“Perhaps you would like to celebrate the Prince's safe return with us in Euron's chambers?”

Ramsay looked at her slowly, surprised by the forward question in front of her husband. She was a pretty thing with loose red curls and full pink lips. Freckles danced over her cheeks and the bridge of her small nose. His eyes flicked to Euron. The man was lounged back in his chair, beaming at him.

“Well, what do you say little rabbit? I was taught to share.”

The dark haired woman stood from her chair, running her hands over Euron's shoulders before kneeling beside Joenne.

“I'm sure Prince Theon wouldn't mind.” Enith's accent was thick, her voice deep and sultry as it flowed from her lips. Her hand reached up and she stroked Joenne's breast, “Euron prefers his salt wives well acquainted.”

The women pressed their lips together, Enith's tongue pressing past Joenne’s pink lips. Her hand squeezed the other woman's breast while Joenne's hand slipped into the open bosom of Enith's dress. Ramsay dropped his fork, the food forgotten. _Definitely a trick_.

“If you'd prefer, I can send for the stable boy. He's a eunuch. You could call him…what was it…Reek?”

Ramsay cut his eyes to Euron, his stare conveying his distaste for the suggestion. Euron chuckled. Before Ramsay could voice a response to the first suggestion, a bell began tolling and men were shouting. The women stood, frightened. Euron glanced at the entrance door and back at Ramsay.

“Take them to my chamber in The Sea Tower. They'll show you the way.”

Ramsay stood for a moment, his eyes cutting to Eyva as Euron rushed out of the dining hall and toward the bridge. He was going to the armory. Eyva rushed with the women toward the opposite bridge, looking behind her to see if Ramsay was following. When they reached the chamber, Ramsay waited.

“We should help the other women to this tower.” Eyva suggested to Ramsay. He nodded, picking up on the excuse to leave the other women. He watched Eyva hug the other two women, whispering reassurances before slipping out of the chamber with him. They hurried along the bridges to the Gate House. Ramsay grabbed a sword from the ground, discarded by a slain Ironborn.

Arrows flew by and men were screaming in the background. Ramsay caught sight of Euron, fully dressed in armor bearing the Greyjoy sigil. The man's back was to him as he was hacking at an invader. One of the fellow archers released an arrow at an assailant in front of the Lord Reaper. The arrow missed, grazing Euron's cheek. The Kraken’s eyes became wild. He marched toward the archer, spearing the enemy that had been missed by the arrow. He kept marching, shoving the archer back against the stone wall. He raised his sword and brought the blade down, severing the man's arm, yelling in a bestial rage. Ramsay turned back to the gate. He didn't care to be on the same end of the man's anger. He grabbed Eyva’s shoulder and shoved her toward the unmanned gate.

As the archer bled out on the ground, Euron turned his attention to the gate just in time to block an attack. As he pulled his sword away from the other man’s, he quickly lunged to the side in anticipation of the man’s next move. The sword became heavier as it penetrated flesh, piercing the man’s ribs. He saw Ramsay and Eyva running through the gates. Ramsay’s feet pounded the muddied earth as he rushed through the raised gate. He charged toward the narrow path, his poorly crafted shoes losing traction in the soggy group. He nearly lost his balance numerous times while running down the steep trail.  Euron sliced and hacked his way toward the battlements, instructing a guard to gather two others and ride the two down.

Eyva could see the lights of Lordsport in the distance.  The sound of the horses hooves was masked by the beating rain. She and Ramsay were knocked down by the flat edge of a broadsword as the guards flanked them on the left. Immediately to the right was a steep hill that slopped into the rocks leading down to the port town. The force of the blow sent them down the embankment together, the hooves of the horses stilling in the slick mud. They toppled alongside each other for a good fifteen feet before sliding into the rocks. Ramsay stood and Eyva grabbed onto him to steady herself. They shambled along the muddy entrenchment toward the port.

After a few moments, he realized she was no longer beside him. Ramsay looked back to find the blonde frantically lifting the skirts of her dress, blood streaking down her white legs. She looked at him with the same horror as the women he had hunted. She dropped the skirts and her hands began shaking. He didn't have time for this. He thought of leaving her there but she was his only way off the island. If she became too much trouble he'd slit her throat and her brother's after the boat was secured. They climbed over the sharp rocks but when they came upon the docks the guards were awaiting them.

***

Eyva let herself hang between the two men that were hoisting her up. As if entranced, she stared past the room and toward one of the large arched windows. Her eyes were focused on night sky, dancing along the constellations. The storm clouds had moved on and the sky was alive with stars. Though the heavy doors to the hall were closed, she could hear footfall approaching like a violent storm. It was him. She recalled her early encounters with Euron. She had thought of herself as the rabbit constellation and him as the canine constellation not far off, giving chase; flirtatious and seductive. At the time, she had romanticized the comparison. But now, though he were still the dog and she the rabbit, he had caught her and he was going to  tear her to shreds; tufts of bloodied fur the only proof of her existence.

Euron burst through the doors of the great hall, still fully clad in his blood stained armor; The Kraken on the breast plate glistened in viscera. The man marched toward the Northerner who was being held in the center of the room, completely ignoring her for the time being.

Ramsay tensed his body and lifted his chin. A familiar scent wafted from his armor; raw, copper, and wet. It was intoxicating. The older man's face was set on him, determined and unrelenting. He expected a fist to collide with his face. Instead, he was pushed back on the table. Euron grabbed his hips and jerked him down so his ass was resting at the edge of the table. One hand moved up, tightening around his throat as the man leaned over him, his armor pressing against him. His voice was a low growl.

“If there weren't others in this room, I'd fuck you bloody.”

Euron inhaled the scent of the younger man, hard from the fear in his eyes. He could tell the bastard was also aroused by the chaos in the air. He had just returned from exile for raping his brother's salt wife. He wasn't about to be cast away again for doing the same to his nephew's. Not in front of witnesses. However, Ramsay Bolton could not bear his shame in the form of pregnancy. He was hard and adrenaline from the fight was pumping through him. He looked over his shoulder, finding Eyva sobbing and struggling against the two guards that held her up by her arms. His eyes widened slightly and his nostrils flared as he located his prey.

He slapped Ramsay on the chest and pressed off him, walking over to the Ironborn beauty. Ramsay pulled himself up, sliding off the table. He leaned against it, his chest heaving. He watched under dirt covered strands of matted hair as the Kraken advanced on the young woman.

Euron saw the blood dripping at her feet and unsheathed his sword, dragging it across the floor.

“Did he rape you?”

The Crow’s Eye watched Eyva’s eyes dart to Ramsay, her lips trembling. Euron slid the sword under the hem of her shirt, slowly lifting it up as he awaited an answer.

“No.” Her voice was strong but her lips quivered.

Euron's eyes traveled up her bloodied legs. It was too much blood. He remembered his first salt wife to miscarry. He lifted his hand and brushed the hair from her face. Her eyes were red from crying.

“Why were you running away, Eyva?” She only answered him with a loud sob. He pressed his hand against her dirtied face, gently stroking the grime away with his thumb, “Hmm?”

“Euron, please...”

“Have you been disloyal, Eyva? Was I gone too long? Who's was it? A guard’s? Theon's? Do you know?”

“No. You're the only man I've laid with, I swear it. I just wanted our child to have more than a hovel. I didn’t want to be sent away like the others – to be forgotten more so than remembered.”

Eyva felt her body begin to shake. She tried to steady herself as she cursed herself in her head as such a stupid girl. She hadn’t wanted to leave his side. Euron allotted his pregnant salt wives a small home on the islands. He ensured they were cared for but other than that, only afforded his favorites and further affection – soon filling their place with a new wife. There was no place for children in Pyke.

“And now there is no baby, is there Eyva?” Euron smiled sweetly at her as she shook her head, tears falling from her cheek.

“Did Ramsay Bolton tell you he'd give the child lordship in the North? Some small castle or other intriguing promise in exchange for passage?”

“No. I offered to get him to a ship if he would take me to The Barrowlands.”

Euron motioned the guard to open the door. It was a poorly construed lie. The story made no sense. Bastards were regarded more highly in the Iron Islands than they were in the rest of Westeros. He didn't expect an answer to his next question. He expected more wails.

“Your brother still works the docks?”

She bit her lip, her face contorting in realization and terror. Euron signaled the guard at the door with a nod. The guards hauled in a young man, looking terrified as he was tossed before the Crow's Eye. Eyva thrashed against the guards. Euron jerked the boy's head up.

“No, please! Euron! Please! Please...”

“The truth, Eyva.”

He pressed the point of the sword against the boy's adams apple, watching it move as he swallowed.

“I was tired of sharing you with the others. I didn't want to be abandoned. I hoped to seduce the Northerner and obtain property in the North as his mistress.”

She looked up as a soft chuckle carried from behind Euron. It was the dark haired man she had been fleeing with less than a mere a hour ago.

“I was going to kill you and your brother once we were in the Riverlands.”

Euron smirked at Ramsay before returning his attention to Eyva. He watched her face twist in agony and rage. Her heart was twisting in her chest and she wondered if all men were so cruel. She had loved Euron blindly. She screamed as he pressed the sword through her younger brother's throat. As he gurgled she remembered what he had looked like as a babe, playing with her small fingers. She remembered him as a small child, walking along the docks as warm rays of sunlight drifted across the water while the sun lowered past the horizon. The sword was pulled from his neck and his body toppled over, blood flowing forth and darkening the floor. Euron advanced on her, jerking her out of the hold of the guards. He forced her over the table  and pushed up her skirts. She didn’t protest, there was no point. She screwed her eyes shut as he shrugged off his armor and unsheathed himself. Her hands clawed at the table as he sodomized her.

Ramsay shivered when the man's eyes locked on him as he began fucking the woman. Though he feared being in the woman’s place, the scene aroused him; it awakened the carnal desire in him that had been dormant the past few days. He shuddered as Euron’s eyes remained on him as he slammed into Eyva. The Lord Reaper’s hand was on her head, pressing the side of her dirtied face harshly into the table. Ramsay remembered what Theon had looked like on his stomach in the dirt when the Ironborn had him, his pants pushed down over his ass.  He could smell the soil on the forest floor. He thought of Theon making noises similar to the ones filling the dining hall.


End file.
